Indiana Jones and the Simian Odyssey
by G-Go
Summary: How did the Tempus Simia find its way into the TriCity Museum in Middleton? And what does it have to do with Kim Possible and her grandmother? The answers, a few surprises, plus lots of action and adventure are all in this IndyKP crossover. COMPLETE!
1. Funeral

Author's notes: This is a spinoff in the REUNION universe, but it's not crucial that you read REUNION to follow along with the story. However, a viewing of the Indiana Jones trilogy at some point in the recent past might be helpful…or the near future. Plus, you know, you gotta have some KP knowledge as well. Anyway, this won't be as long as UNION or REUNION butit won't be a short one either. Thanks to everyone who is reading, and thanks to new 'reply' function I can respond to all signed reviews! Sweet, no? And finally, a version of this story with title illustrations done bythe WAY talented DevArtist Minnesota Muttwill be posted at my DevArt page, you can find the link in my profile.

Story Plug: The WGA is a collaborative writing effort between CaptainKodak1, Mattb3671, MrDrP, WesUAH, Zaratan and Yours Truly, you can find a link to the story "The Darkness Within" in my favorite authors listing.

And now, the disclaimers: Kim Possible and all characters originating on that show belong to Disney, Indiana Jones and all characters in the Indiana Jones Trilogy belong to George Lucas (Wow, a Disney/Lucas crossover… it's like all the evil forces in the universe combined), and any remaining characters are mine, blah blah blah…

"If adventure has a middle name, it must be Ron Stoppable"

* * *

Indiana Jones and the Simian Odyssey

* * *

Chapter 1: Funeral

* * *

"I hope you're ready for this, agent Zapruder."

"Si, senor."

"If you've got any hesitation or doubt, let me know now. Once we go in, you won't have the opportunity to change your mind. You sure about this?"

"Si, senor Ronin."

* * *

His civilian name was Ron Stoppable. His wife and friends all called him Ron. His fourteen-month-old daughter, Veronica, called him "Durgle", which, as far as he was concerned, meant 'Daddy'.

However, as an agent for the international law enforcement organization Global Justice, he was known as Ronin. It wasn't a name he had chosen for himself. Early in his career as a hero, a newspaper reporter called him "Ronin", inaccurately believing it to be a term that described ninjas. In actuality, Ronin is the term used in ancient Japan for a wandering Samurai. But, as is often the case with the media, especially media inaccuracies, the name stuck, and eventually it's what he came to call himself.

Of course, Ronin wasn't just Ron Stoppable. In many ways it was also his friend Wade Load. Not long after Ron graduated from college, he had gone to Japan, to the ninja school at Mt. Yamanuchi to train in the ways of ninjitsu. He spent four years under the tutelage of Toshimiru, known to his students as 'Sensei'. Upon his return to Middleton, he had contacted his friend Wade, and asked if he would like to go into the hero business together. Wade would soon become the technical half of the mysterious ninja known as Ronin.

Among the first things Wade did for his friend was develop Ronin's battlesuit, and it was something he was very proud of. Made of an advanced Kevlar-based material, it could withstand just about any projectile thrown at it, from bullets to small missiles. The Katana logo on the chest of the suit housed everything from a global communicator to advanced scanning and detection apparatus. With a tiny microphone located at the larynx, and a tiny speaker sewn into the ear fabric of the mask, Wade could carry on conversations with Ronin anywhere in the world, thanks to three dedicated satellites positioned in various strategic orbits. No more need for a handheld computer to house all the scanning and communication equipment. Ronin wore it all on his chest, on a razor thin piece of integrated technology. Two tiny cameras with every type of capability (including infra-red and night vision) sewn into the headband, faced both forward and rearward. The suit could absorb and even store unfocused energy, like electricity or certain types of kinetic energy, but it could not withstand focused beams, such as rays, or lasers.

The suit also came equipped with a cloaking device. Wade found a way to manipulate light particles so that the suit allowed light to pass through it without reflecting back to the human eye. A flick of the switch and Ronin would appear to just vanish, though physically he'd still be there. There were drawbacks to this feature, however. It used a huge amount of power (storage cells for the suit's power were located in the heels of Ronin's boots), so the cloak couldn't stay engaged for very long. In addition, Ronin had to pull his mask completely down over his face, which meant he was blind while cloaked. And finally, whenever he was cloaked, he couldn't move without giving away his position. Anyone looking directly at him while he was cloaked couldn't see him, of course, but if he moved even a few inches, anyone looking at him would see a human-shaped distortion in their field of vision.

But the real beauty of the suit, as far as Wade was concerned, was the Neurological Interface. In his basement, Wade had a separate station set up that had sleeves for his arms, legs, and each of his fingers. In addition, he had goggles wired directly to the cameras in the battlesuit so he could see everything Ronin saw, and more. The arm and leg sleeves were connected to an interface that allowed Wade to assist, enhance, or just plain control whoever was wearing the battlesuit. Through tiny amounts of neural-electrical generation, Wade could, for instance, move Ronin's arm, make a fist, make him walk, make him jump, etc. But thanks to the suit's built-in neurological enhancers, Wade could also make Ronin jump higher than he normally could, or run faster, or hit harder. All of it was based on delivering a tiny, precise neural-electrical charge into a given muscle on Ronin's body in order to stimulate it. The Neural-Interface manifested itself as wire-thin crimson stripes that glowed whenever they were in operation. All of these features were brilliantly packaged by Wade into a skin-tight suit that – except for the stripes – looked like any typical ninja outfit.

But there was one more element that helped make Ronin the hero he truly was: The Lotus Blade. About two years ago, Ron had acquired the Blade when it was given to him by Sensei just before he died. The Lotus Blade was a sword with mysterious powers and could only be wielded by someone who possessed the abilities of Monkey Kung Fu; the mystical monkey power known as Tai Xing Pek Wah. The sword had the ability to transform into any weapon, provided that weapon was made of metal, and had a mass no greater than a medium sized shield, or metallic equivalent. With his abilities and prowess, Ron could change the Lotus Blade into other swords, a length of chain with a claw at one end, or a shield, and he could even transform the Blade into various tools if need be.

All of these factors combined to make Ronin one truly formidable hero, and an effective Deep Field Operative for Global Justice.

Though he did not yet realize it, today he was on one of the most important missions of his life.

* * *

Ronin sat in his custom-made aircraft, the Ninjet, and studied the massive glass building in front of him. The craft itself was cloaked and floating in the deep, huge reflecting pool that occupied the wide plaza in front of the Hovito Corporation building in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

On Ron's shoulder sat Rufus, a clone of a naked mole rat with an artificial brain.

In the passenger seat was agent Zapruder of Brazil's Justice Internacional. Ron didn't much care for the babysitter, but since this was both a sensitive operation and a mission to correct a mistake made by another Global Justice agent, JI insisted one of their operatives tag along.

Ron preferred to work with his wife, Kim Possible. But she was on sabbatical from hero work so she could stay home with their daughter, Veronica. Ron's second partner preference was the reason he was on this mission in the first place.

The Hovito Corporation was a front company owned by the international supervillain known only as Arianna. She had stolen an electronic device called the Integrated Digital Operations Lockdown, or I.D.O.L. It was a remarkable piece of technology that, when connected to any electronic security system, could shut it down, turn it off, or even re-write its software so that only the person using the IDOL could operate it. The device worked on any electronic apparatus, and it wasn't limited to security systems. Anything that ran on a CPU could be broken into and controlled by the IDOL; from personal computers to airliners, etc. In some cases, the IDOL didn't even have to be connected to its intended target if said target had wireless capability.

There were many governments, terrorist organizations, and supervillains who would be willing to pay a hefty price for such an item.

The IDOL, of course, was developed in one of the numerous top secret research facilities in the Middleton area. Arianna had gone to Middleton on the pretext of visiting her sometime lover, James Possible, twin brother to Timothy Possible, both of whom worked for Global Justice. Jim was desperately in love with Arianna, and completely believed she was in Middleton just to visit him, thus he didn't bother to notify Global Justice that an internationally known criminal was in town. Arianna was just as in love with Jim as he was with her, and didn't want to use him in such a manner. But she was a supervillain after all, so she stole the IDOL and, much to her regret, left a heartbroken Jim with the unenviable task of reporting what had happened to his superior, Global Justice Director Wil Du.

Wil promptly suspended Jim, and launched an investigation into all of his operations and missions covering his entire career at Global Justice. AS far as Wil was concerned, young James Possible was not to be trusted.

In the meantime, Director Du sent one of his top agents, a man by the name of Forest Hall, to retrieve the IDOL. Hall and Stoppable had developed something of a rivalry in the past couple of years, and it hadn't always been friendly. But Ron was truly saddened when he heard that agent Hall had not returned from the mission (and was now presumed killed in the line of duty). Ron volunteered to conduct the mission himself. Wil Du was against it, mainly because of Ron's family connections to Jim Possible. But, though Stoppable was not Global Justice's best agent, Ron had a talent for completing the kinds of missions others hesitated to even volunteer for. Ron wasn't very good at the usual GJ missions and operations, and occasionally botched them, committing one mistake or another. But for some reason, on the missions where the pressure or danger was most intense, Ron seemed to thrive. Wil couldn't figure it out. It was almost as though Ron went on the tough missions knowing he couldn't die. And he didn't, of course, though every now and then Ron would sustain some sort of mission-related injury.

So Wil reluctantly sent him, and Justice Internacional insisted one of their own agents go along. And here they were, sitting in the Ninjet, floating on the enormous reflecting pool in front of the Hovito Corporation building.

"Bad news," came Wade's voice from the center console of the aircraft, his face appeared on a small view screen, "Satellite scans indicate some sort of force field surrounding the top of the building. I can't get my scans to penetrate it, which means I can't tell you exactly what or who is inside."

"But we're sure the IDOL's in there?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, thanks to intelligence provided by your friend's agency." Wade confirmed.

"We have a mole in the Hovito Corporation," Zapruder spoke with a Brazilian accent, "He confirmed the presence of the IDOL in this building. We shared that information with your Global Justice two weeks ago."

"So this is it," Ron said quietly, looking at the building again, "This is where Forest Hall cashed in."

"A friend of yours?" Zapruder asked.

"A competitor," Ron replied, "He was good. He was very, very good."

"Senor," Zapruder's tone suddenly became very worried, "If no one has come out of there alive… please…"

Ron didn't respond, but sat quietly looking at the huge glass building that vaguely resembled an Aztec Pyramid. At the far end of the reflecting pool, near the entrance to the building, was a rather odd piece of modern art. It was a tall and wide rectangular metallic arch. Beyond that was a stairway leading up to the front entrance. It was so large and shallow, in fact, that it looked more like a concrete hillside than a long flight of stairs. At the top were the glass front doors of the Hovito Corporation building.

"So we have no way of knowing where the IDOL's being kept?" Ron ignored Zapruder and looked back at the screen.

"Actually, I have a pretty good idea where it's at," Wade replied. His face on the view screen was replaced by a blueprint-type schematic. "I managed to dig up the building plans, and I am almost certain the IDOL's being kept in this room."

A section of the blueprint was electronically highlighted. Ron didn't even bother asking his friend if he was certain. Wade had saved his life countless times and was hardly ever wrong about such things.

"What's this huge circular thing?" Ron asked, gazing at the screen.

"That'd be in the building's atrium. That's where the lobby is, and very likely where the security guards will be stationed. That circular object is a huge bronze globe suspended from the ceiling." Wade explained.

"OK, so walk us through this." Ron suggested.

"Right," Wade acknowledged and began highlighting specific sections of the blueprints as he talked, "The front doors are standard glass office doors, double bolted. The good news is that the alarm system is only wired to the glass and will only go off if it breaks. It won't go off if the bolts are cut and the doors are opened. This is standard procedure at most large companies since security guards are always opening doors when they shouldn't. All you need to do is cut the bolts and quietly open the doors. Now, there are surveillance cameras on the front of the building, but they're outside the energy barrier. I can broadcast a jamming signal from the Ninjet that will cause those cameras to display a frozen image of the plaza on their monitors."

"That _is_ good news." Ron agreed.

"Well, sort of." Wade countered, "Since the image will be frozen, the water in the reflecting pool won't be moving. Someone's bound to notice that after a few minutes."

"We'll have to get to the guard station before that."

"Correct," Wade continued, "And those guards will be heavily armed, so be careful."

"Hey!" Ron said casually, "It's me! We both know when I'm gonna die, so everything between now and then is gravy."

"Is that why you've been taking all the dangerous assignments?" Wade asked, incredulous, "Please tell me that's not why you've been taking all these high-risk missions."

"Well…" Ron began to falter, "I mean-"

"Aw Ron, you gotta be kidding me!" Wade practically yelled, "Are you not aware of the possibility of shifting timelines? You could die today, which means Veronica could still grow up and wind up marrying Ray Beam. In fact, without a Daddy in her life, that's very likely what might happen."

Zapruder had a look on his face like a lost child at a busy mall.

"But TJ-" Ron began.

"Wont' be born." Wade cut him off, "And thus won't be able to help you save the universe…"

"So I should go home and lock myself in the closet?" Ron's voice took on an edge.

"No," Wade clenched his teeth, "I'm just saying that rushing off into the most dangerous missions doesn't automatically mean you're going to live through them. Just be your usual cautious self, Ron!"

There was silence for a second, then Ron and Wade both burst out laughing. They laughed loudly for a good couple of minutes.

"Oh, mercy!" Wade said, still laughing and wiping away a mirthful tear, "I totally forgot who I was talking to."

"'Ron' and 'cautious self' aren't words you usually hear in the same sentence," Ron said, still laughing.

"The day Ron Stoppable gets cautious is the day I start looking for the Apocalypse." Wade chortled, "Just don't do anything stupid… Oh, man! There I go again!"

Ron's face instantly looked serious, "OK, that wasn't funny."

"Maybe not to _you_," Wade guffawed. "So you took all these missions because you thought you might be saving the life of another agent, figuring you had a ways to go before your death, right?"

"Well…" Ron looked sheepish, "Yeah. I guess."

"You and your 'sacrifice yourself for the perceived greater good' complex," Wade scolded, "You really should see a therapist."

"If I need therapy, it's because you keep posting all that embarrassing stuff about me on the GJ online message boards!" Ron cracked.

"Speaking of which," Wade shifted the subject, "Did you see Wil Du posted the latest chapter of his Speed Racer fanfic? Chim-Chim gets killed by a steamroller."

"Was that not sweet?" Ron agreed enthusiastically, "And Racer X was driving that steamroller! I totally knew he was going to-"

"Senors?" Zapruder finally broke into the conversation, "The mission?"

"Uh, right!" Ron said, regaining his composure, "I believe we left off at 'heavily armed security guards.'"

"Gotcha," Wade acknowledged, "That huge globe hanging from the ceiling of the lobby will make an excellent route marker. Once you're in the front doors, you'll have to go up two long flights of stairs to get to the lobby. Then you'll need to dispatch the guards. When that's done, continue straight back to the rear of the lobby. The globe and the entry stairway should be at your back. There will be a long corridor without doors. Follow it all the way down to the end, turn right, and that room should be where the IDOL is being kept."

"Any guards outside the building?"

"None that the scans are showing," Wade answered, "I've got a small schematic here marked 'Security Drone', but it's also labeled 'experimental'. If the drones are up and running, they'll be about five feet tall and run on small tank-like tracks, so keep your eyes open."

"What about interior security systems?" Ron asked.

"That'll be up to agent Zapruder. Disarming them is his field of expertise." Wade replied.

"Once we have the IDOL, we can use it to shut down any remaining security alarms or systems." Zapruder confirmed.

"Remember, Ron," Wade said slowly, "You'll be under that energy barrier, which means communications between us will be cut off."

"Well that- hey! Does that mean Rufus can't come along?" Ron asked.

"I'm afraid so," Wade confirmed, "The signal from his brain would cease and he'd shut down, probably die."

Some years ago, Rufus had perished when a mission Kim and Ron were conducting had gone horribly wrong. Wade cloned the naked mole rat and built an artificial brain from technology that had been developed by Kim Possible during the six years she and Ron were apart. The brain itself was about the size of a refrigerator and was kept in the basement laboratory of the house Wade shared with his wife Monique. A signal from that brain was beamed to a network of three satellites positioned so that Rufus could go anywhere in the world.

Once was a time when Rufus functioned as a member of Ron's team. Information could be downloaded directly to Rufus' artificial mind and the mole rat could relay it to Ron, or use it in specific situations, such as defusing a bomb, or dismantling a security system in a space only a naked mole rat could crawl into. But fourteen months ago, when Veronica was born, Rufus had become so enamored of Kim and Ron's daughter that he took it upon himself to be her personal guardian angel. He never left Veronica's side, even when she slept. Rufus had come along on this mission at Kim's insistence; she wanted alone time with her baby. Now Rufus wouldn't be able to go after all.

"Awwww." Rufus squeaked dejectedly.

"Sorry buddy," Ron said sympathetically, "But I would appreciate it if you'd stay here and guard the Ninjet."

"OK", Rufus said unenthusiastically. He knew his friend was only trying to be nice.

"I'm jamming the surveillance cameras… now!" Wade informed them.

"De-cloak the Ninjet. I'm gonna bring it over to the edge of the pool," Ron said, "Let's get this thing and get out of here."

Ronin and Zapruder opened their doors and got out of the aircraft.

* * *

Nothing went amiss on their stealthy journey up the concrete outer stairs to the front doors. As Wade had said, they were simple glass office doors, double bolted. As long as he was right about the alarms they wouldn't have too much trouble getting into the building.

Ronin took the Lotus Blade from his back and transformed it into a long hacksaw. Zapruder looked nervously around, then peered through the doors and up the interior stairway. He could see no one.

It's a maddening experience trying to saw through metal and be quiet about it. Several times both agents were convinced a squeak or a jarring noise would alert someone and bring security down upon them. But it never happened. Eventually Ronin was able to sever the bolts and slowly open the door. He squinted his eyes and gritted his teeth, hoping Wade was right about the alarm.

He was.

The agents crept up the stairs. As they neared the top, they came within sight of the massive bronze globe. Naturally, South America was the most prominently featured continent. Ron thought a casual visitor to this place must feel very intimidated by such an enormous sphere hanging over their heads.

Presently, voices began to make their way into the agent's hearing range, but they all seemed to come from one location. Cautiously peering up over the top step, Ronin observed about a dozen human security guards gathered around the reception desk. They seemed to be talking in excited tones.

"They are wondering why all the images have frozen on their exterior monitors," Zapruder whispered, translating for Ronin.

"Good," Ronin whispered back, "That means they'll send someone to investigate. We can take care of at least one guard when he comes down here, and then figure out how to dispatch the rest."

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy, senor," Zapruder whispered back, "It seems as though they are sending four guards and not one."

"Terrific." Ron muttered, We'll have to-"

He cut himself off when he saw Zapruder pull what looked like a handgun out of his vest.

"No lethal measures!" Ron whispered savagely.

"No, senor," Zapruder explained, "This is a gun that shoots darts. It delivers a non-lethal but paralyzing serum that renders a grown man unconscious.

Ron nodded, "How many shots do you have?"

"Five," Zapruder answered.

"Extra clips?"

Zapruder shook his head, "It is a disposable weapon, no clips to reload."

"Alright," Ronin whispered, "Take down the four that are coming over here, then come help me deal with the rest."

"Si, senor," Zapruder acknowledged.

Ronin crouched against the side of the stairway, trying to appear as invisible as possible when they heard the approaching footsteps. At the last second, Zapruder nervously stood up and fired off four shots as rapidly as he could.

By the second shot, Ronin was already up and sprinting across the lobby. He got about two thirds of the way there before a cry of alarm was raised. The guards scattered, drawing weapons. The guard sitting in the chair at the reception desk looked up just in time to catch the edge of a flying shield on the bridge of his nose. He was thrown over backward while the shield's trajectory was slightly altered and it embedded itself in the wall behind the desk.

Ronin didn't break stride, but vaulted up over the desk just as the air filled with energy beams that shot in several different directions at once. Two of the guards conveniently dispatched each other inadvertently with their own weapons, leaving five… then four as Zapruder took down another guard with his last sleeper dart.

The four remaining guards took up aggressive stances around the desk as Zapruder retreated to the stairway for cover. One of the guards shouted something.

Ron ignored them, called the Lotus Blade back to him, then changed it to a large hammer and began destroying the console at the receptions desk, disabling any of the electronic equipment that might be used to call for help or set off an alarm.

Wistfully, Ron found himself once more wishing he could transform the Lotus Blade into one of the other powerful Ohana Blades; companion weapons to the Lotus that once existed in ancient Japan. But as Ron found out on one of his early missions, the Lotus could no longer become one of the other Ohana Blades. Ron guessed that because they no longer existed, the Lotus Blade could not become them. It was a rather disappointing discovery.

Again, one of the guards shouted something in Spanish. Ron leaped to his feet, transforming the Lotus into a shield with a very reflective surface and held it tightly against his side. As he came up, energy beams began bouncing off the shield. Ron grabbed the reception desk chair with his free hand and swung it out in front of him, winging it at the nearest guard. The guard yelped but was unable to get out of the way in time as the chair swept through his feet and sent him sprawling. Ronin took two quick steps toward the next guard and raised the shield. Seemingly mesmerized, or perhaps blinded by the reflecting energy beams, the remaining guards continued to fire at the shield's surface despite the fact that Ronin's lower half was completely exposed. The guards realized this too late, Ronin smacked the shield into the face of the nearest guard, knocking him off balance, then came up behind him, putting the guard between himself and the guard's comrades. They continued shooting, of course, and the poor guard absorbed the beams fired by his companions. As the security agent began to slump, Ronin whipped out his shield hand and hurled the shield at the two remaining guards. It sailed unerringly at the nearest guard, slamming into his head and glanced off at an angle. The final guard put his hands up protectively over his face and took the shield in the abdomen. His breath exploded out of him as he was sent tumbling into unconsciousness.

"And Kim thought it was a waste of money when I bought that pool table for the game room!" Ronin shouted triumphantly, calling the Blade back to him.

"Senor Ronin!" Zapruder shouted in alarm.

Ron spun in time to see the first guard, who had been knocked over with the chair, struggling to get to his feet. He raced over and dispatched him with a chopping blow to the nerve cluster at the base of the neck. The man crumpled up in a heap.

Zapruder strode over to the security console and threw up his hands in frustration.

"Senor," he complained, "I was hoping to disarm the security and defensive systems from here."

"Then you should have gotten here first," Ronin growled in reply. He didn't much appreciate the way Zapruder had sat out most of the fight with the guards.

Zapruder studied the wreckage of the security console, "I believe I can shut down some of the alarms, but I have no idea how we will deal with the defensive systems."

"So do it," Ron spat, "And let's get moving."

While Zapruder worked at the console, Ron busied himself handcuffing the security guards together with their own restraints. After he completed this, something seemed to occur to him. He removed one of the guard's shirts, and tied several knots, making a sort of pouch or bag out of it. Then he went to the reception desk and began putting staplers, pens, paperweights, and one or two others things into the pouch until he felt he had enough, and tied the bag closed, then secured it to his waist.

"Finished, senor," Zapruder announced, "I've done as much as I can. I managed to shut down the surveillance cameras and some of the alarms and detection equipment."

Ron simply nodded and began making his way toward the rear of the lobby, crossing under the huge globe toward the opposite side of the entry stairway. Zapruder reluctantly followed.

The corridor was dark as they made their way into it. There didn't seem to be any artificial lighting at all, though it looked as though up ahead some of the natural light from outside was streaming in. They moved a few steps toward the patch of light, barely able to see anything in the immediate vicinity. Zapruder took out a small penlight and switched it on.

"Senor!" He whispered urgently.

Ron stopped and craned his head around. On his shoulder was a small, metallic robot. The main body was spherical in shape and it moved around on eight legs.

"Arachno-drones." Ron said in an annoyed manner, "Don't worry, they're just gathering information. They're too small to house any kind of weapon."

Zapruder gasped. Ron looked up at him and noticed there was an arachno-drone on the other agent's shoulder. Ron said nothing, but took out the Lotus Blade, motioning for Zapruder to turn around. The Brazilian agent did so.

His back was a virtual hive of small, metallic creatures. Ron transformed the Lotus into a series of interconnected rings and used them to brush the creatures, first off himself, then off Zapruder.

"Make sure you crush them all," Ron ordered, "So they can't return and deliver notification of our whereabouts."

Both men spent several minutes stamping the arachno-drones to bits. After making sure no others were coming out of the walls or ceiling, they moved on.

Upon approaching the patch of light on the floor, it became clear to Ron that there was a skylight far overhead. But something didn't feel right about this. Zapruder continued to move forward.

"Stop!" Ron barked, "Stay out of the light."

Zapruder nodded and both men flattened themselves against one wall of the corridor, inching past the rays of sun that streamed downward from the skylight. When they reached the other side, Ron took the Lotus Blade and held it out into the light rays.

Suddenly, two panels slid open on opposite sides of the wall. From behind each panel, lasers streamed horizontally outward, about six inches apart from each other. They began at the floor and went up to just past the seven foot level. One of the lasers nicked the Lotus Blade and sparks erupted, causing Ron to reflexively withdraw the sword. It was clear that had both men stepped into the light rays, they would be been impaled repeatedly by the lasers. As if to drive home the point, something fell out from behind the panel on the opposite wall.

Zapruder let out a scream, then clamped a hand to his mouth.

A partially decomposed body lay crumpled up on the floor at the edge of the pattern of light. The lasers had sliced through whoever it was, and somehow pulled him into the wall when they withdrew. Ron crouched down and gazed at the corpse.

"Forest Hall," He muttered.

Then he straightened up, glared at Zapruder and moved off down the corridor.

A little further down, they came upon a gap in the floor. Wherever it went it was deep, and there didn't seem to be a bridge or electronic controls for any kind of crossing. It was too wide for either man to leap across. Ron looked around, then up. The ceiling on this side of the skylight was only a few feet above them. There was a steam or water pipe running from one wall to the other near the ceiling. Ron took out the Lotus Blade and transformed it to a length of chain with a claw at one end. Then he whipped it at the steam pipe. The claw end of the chain went up and over the pipe, then slung around and attached itself to the chain. Ron gave two good tugs on the chain to make sure it was securely latched, then swung himself across the chasm. When he got to the other side, he turned and swung the end of the chain back to Zapruder.

Tentatively, Zapruder gave a tug on the chain, then nervously took hold of it and swung himself across. Halfway through his swing, the pipe shifted downward. Zapruder yelped and barely got his feet to touch the other side. Ronin reached out and caught him by the waistband, hauling him to safety. Frightened, Zapruder flung his right arm around Ronin and clung to him. Ron shot the agent an annoyed look and forcibly removed the arm from around his neck. Then he anchored the end of the chain to a place on the wall, intending to leave it there for their use when they came back through the corridor.

A few more paces and they found themselves at the end of the long passageway. On the wall to their left was an icon, presumably the Hovito Corporation logo. It was an image of gold in the center, with small lengths of wood that formed triangular rays emanating outward to give an impression of the sun.

They turned right and Ron stopped, staring.

Before them was a large room with a ceiling that went all the way to the glass roof of the building. Dim light streamed in from the outside. A wide tiled floor stretched out before them to a set of three stairs and a dais. On a pedestal in the center of the dais was the IDOL.

It wasn't very large; about the size of two fists. It was bright silver, and rectangular. It had several ports for electronic connections as well as a small display on its face, and a tiny keyboard for input purposes.

Zapruder began striding forward.

"Let us hurry," he said eagerly, "There is nothing to fear here."

Ron's arm shot out and caught Zapruder at the chest. Pushing on him, Ronin pinned Zapruder against the wall.

"That's what scares me," he growled.

Ronin turned and walked over to the sun logo. With some effort, he wrenched one of the lengths of wood from it and walked back to where the tiled floor began. He and Zapruder crouched at the edge.

Ron began systematically tapping the large tiles. Zapruder had a confused look on his face; he had no idea what the other agent was doing. Nothing happened when Ronin tapped several of the lightly colored tiles. Then he tapped on one of the dark ones.

A tiny, square-ish panel in the opposite wall slid open, there was a very loud _'fwoosh'_ sound accompanied by a burst of smoke; a flechette – a tiny, needle-sized dart – embedded itself in the length of wood Ronin was holding.

Ron handed the piece of wood to Zapruder and straightened up.

"Stay here." He ordered.

Zapruder offered him a nervous smile, "If you insist, senor."

Ronin gingerly stepped out on to the tiled floor, tiptoeing around the darker tiles and stepping only on the light-colored squares. A quick glance showed Ronin the walls on either side of him were a honeycomb of tiny panels; thousands of them, each housing a deadly flechette. Ron cautiously made his way across the tiled expanse to the stairs.

Just before he got there, he lost his balance.

Zapruder tensed, straightened up and anxiously sucked air through his teeth as Ronin stumbled slightly, then caught himself. When he got to the stairs, Ron leaped to the wall, then pushed off it, bypassing the stairs altogether to land on the dais.

There were more tiles here as well. Ron tiptoed his way across the short distance to the pedestal and stood gazing at the IDOL before him. He crouched down, rubbing his chin and examining the pedestal itself. Ronin surmised that its surface was pressure-sensitive, tuned to the precise weight of the IDOL. It seemed his earlier hunch had been right. Straightening up, Ron took out the improvised pouch and hefted it in his hand, gazing at the IDOL and trying to gauge its weight. He reached into the pouch pulling out a stapler and several pens, letting them fall to the floor (making sure they didn't strike any dark tiles). Then he cinched up the pouch once more and leaned part way over the pedestal, the pouch in one hand, the other hand ready to snatch up the IDOL.

Zapruder stood anxiously waiting for Ronin to do something.

The tension in the air grew thick.

Almost quicker than the eye could see, Ronin caught hold of the IDOL and replaced it with the pouch full of office supplies. Then he stood there for a few seconds - though to Ronin it seemed to stretch out into forever - and waited for something to happen.

Nothing.

Zapruder let out a sigh of relief followed by a nervous chuckle.

Ron allowed a grin to play across his face for perhaps the first time that day. He straightened up, tucking the IDOL in under one arm, then turned around and took two steps.

Behind him, the pedestal began to lower. Ronin heard a noise and turned to look.

Suddenly, alarms blared while the building began to rumble. The wall behind the pedestal began to collapse.

Ron turned and raced across the tiled floor, paying no heed to where he was stepping. In an instant, the air was peppered with tiny darts that came spewing from the walls on either side. Some of them sliced through the air in front of him while others crossed behind him with a deadly hissing noise. Ron didn't break his stride, he leaped off the dais and onto the tiled floor below. More flechettes sizzled through the air as Ronin ducked and weaved while sprinting toward the entrance to the chamber. A flechette embedded itself in the IDOL, several more grazed him as he ran. One of the lethal projectiles came so close to his face, Ronin felt the wind of its passing on his eyelashes.

He crossed over onto the non-tiled floor and raced around the corner to find Zapruder standing on the far side of the chasm. The chain had become dislodged during his swing and he stood there for a second, staring at the links clutched in his fingers.

"Give me the Blade!" Ron shouted over the blaring alarms and the rumbling of the building.

"Throw me the IDOL!" Zapruder shouted back.

Ron looked nervously around. This was an unexpected turn of events. On the other side of Zapruder, a panel opened in the ceiling and a heavy security door began to lower.

Zapruder glanced at the lowering door then turned back to Ronin, "No time to argue! Throw me the IDOL and I will throw you the Blade!"

Ron hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lightly tossed the IDOL across the chasm to Zapruder's waiting grasp.

"Give me the Blade!" Ron shouted frantically.

A slow, malicious grin spread across Zapruder's face.

"Adios, senor." He said as he let the length of chain fall to the floor. Then he turned and ducked under the still lowering door and ran down the corridor.

Ron grimaced, then took a running start at the chasm, hoping he had the strength to make the leap across such an impossible distance.

Just before he reached the edge, he skidded to a stop.

"Idiot!" Ron shouted as he smacked himself on the forehead.

Ron Stoppable; sometimes he could forget things.

He stretched his hands out on either side and then slowly drew his legs up under him into a cross-legged position. A bright crimson sphere appeared and enveloped him, holding him aloft. Ron sailed easily across the chasm to the other side, then landed on his feet as the sphere abruptly vanished.

The security door was almost all the way down.

Without hesitating, Ron dove for the ever-shrinking gap below the door and rolled beneath it just short of too late. Then, suddenly remembering, his arm darted back under the door and snatched the chain, pulling it through a fraction of a second before the security door slammed shut.

Ron stood up, returned the Lotus Blade to his back, turned and stopped.

A seven foot high barrier of lasers barred his path. Then suddenly the lasers withdrew and a body crumpled up on the floor.

Somewhere above, something cracked, as if a heavy object were breaking.

Ron crouched, took up the IDOL and once more tucked it under his arm.

"Adios, Zapruder," he muttered to the dead man at his feet.

Ron sprinted the rest of the way down the corridor and out into the lobby. Most of the guards were still unconscious, though a couple were struggling against their restraints. Alarms continued to blare. The building began to shake more violently. The globe was swinging back and forth.

Feeling a little safer, Ronin trotted beneath the precariously undulating globe to the top of the stairs. When his foot hit the top step, he felt something click and vibrate beneath his feet. Ronin realized too late that he'd just set off another security measure. But what it was, he didn't know.

Less than a second later he got his answer.

Two loud, simultaneous gunshot-like cracks rang out above and behind him. He turned to see the massive globe falling through the air in his direction.

Ronin's face was a canvas of sheer terror. He turned and sprinted in a blind panic down the stairs. An instant later, the enormous globe crashed to the lobby floor with a deafening roar. Ron lost his footing and went down, clutching the IDOL to him. The globe rolled forward, crested the stairs, and began rolling down upon Ronin, picking up speed by the millisecond. Ron somehow managed to find his footing once more and raced down the stairs again as the globe thundered in behind, gaining on him rapidly. The stairway rocked violently, cracking in several places. Ron found speed he didn't even know he possessed as he practically flew down the stairs. He could feel the globe almost upon him. Another second or two and he would be pulverized beneath it.

Ronin drew the Lotus Blade from his back, transformed it into a shield and hurled it forward. The Blade sailed almost Frisbee-like through the air and shattered one of the front doors. Ron gathered up all his strength and leaped as hard as he could, diving forward through the doorframe. An instant later, the globe slammed into the entrance. The front doors exploded outward while the building was shaken to its foundations. But its forward momentum, at least, was halted.

No one would be going through those doors for months.

Ronin instinctively tucked up into a ball and grunted when he hit the top of the outer concrete stairs. He tumbled several times and then came to a stop on the third stair down.

He found himself surrounded by Hovito security drones.

They stood about five feet high, had tank-like treads for mobility, and brandished flechette launchers, all of which were pointed at him.

Then Ron looked into the face of an adversary.

His name was William Locke, a Frenchman who had once done some freelance operative work for Germany's Das Justice Korps. He and Ronin had conducted a few missions together, but things went sour between them when Locke tried to take credit for a mission Ron had completed. It wasn't necessarily that Ron had such an ego, but Locke had used the glory to advance his own career, and had also falsely accused Ronin of failing his duties. On one particular mission, Ron had put himself in considerable danger to retrieve a stolen priceless artifact. Once it was retrieved, Locke took possession of it and claimed the credit for himself. After awhile, Locke had turned rogue, and began working as a double agent for several supervillains, including Professor Dementor. Lately, word had gotten out that he was working for Arianna. But looking at his face, Ronin suddenly got the feeling that Bill Locke was about to double-cross his current employer and keep the IDOL for himself.

Locke walked over and stood above Ron. "Ronin! Again we see there is nothing which you posses that I cannot take away. And you thought I had given up."

Locke held out his hand expectantly.

Ron held up his fist and the Lotus Blade sailed into his grasp. Dozens of flechette launchers suddenly hummed to life. Ron cautiously put the Blade into it sheath on his back. Locke knew better than to try and take it.

"You chose the wrong friends," Locke gloated, "This time it will cost you."

Ron reluctantly handed over the IDOL.

"Too bad the Hovito-bots don't know you the way I do, Locke." Ron growled.

"Yes." Locke agreed, "Too bad. You could warn them, if only you controlled them."

Unable to resist, Locke decided a demonstration of the IDOL was in order. He punched several buttons on the device and held it up in the air.

All the Hovito security drones shut down.

Like a sprinter exploding off the starting block, Ron leaped to his feet and ran down the concrete steps.

Surprised, Locke watched Ronin run for a second, then powered up the drones once more, directing them to pursue the fleeing ninja. As the bots went after Ronin, Locke held the IDOL up before him and began to laugh maniacally. The laugh echoed throughout the plaza.

"RUFUS!" Ron bellowed frantically as he raced down the shallow concrete steps, "START THE ENGINE!"

On the far side of the reflecting pool, the Ninjet de-cloaked. The pilot-side door of the aircraft opened and the naked mole rat scampered out, gazing in the direction of the Hovito building.

"START THE ENGINE, RUFUS!"

Rufus scampered back into the Ninjet. Several seconds later, the engines cranked up, and the craft drifted around so the passenger side was facing toward Ron.

Ron pelted straight for the metallic arch, while behind him, the Hovito-bots were gaining. Some of them were firing their deadly projectiles in Ronin's direction. He took the Lotus Blade from his back and once more transformed it into a claw and chain. Ron hurled the claw, then, without stopping to make sure it was securely latched, swung through the arch and far out over the reflecting pool. At the very last second, he let go and plunged into the pool itself. Tiny splashes erupted all across the surface of the water as hundreds of darts hissed through the air and into the pool. Ron swam for the passenger side of the Ninjet and hauled himself up. A few darts embedded themselves with a _'thunk'_ into the body of the aircraft. Ron called the Blade back to him, transforming it into a katana while it was still in the air, then pulled his door shut.

A few seconds later, the Ninjet streaked into the sky.

Ron was about to tell Wade why Zapruder was missing when he felt something on his leg. To his horror, Ron looked down and saw a tarantula crawling up over his right knee.

"WADE!" Ron screamed, "THERE'S A BIG SPIDER IN THE NINJET!"

"Yeah!" Wade enthused, "It's a rare Amazonian Tree Spider! I had Rufus go capture it while you guys were inside."

"I HATE SPIDERS, WADE, I HATE 'EM!"

"Come on!" Wade said in an annoyed tone, "Show a little exoskeleton, will ya?"

The Ninjet banked to the left and headed northwest, in the direction of the setting sun.

Several minutes later, Rufus had secured the Tree Spider and Ron was telling Wade about the mission.

"I had it, Wade. I had it _in_ my hand!"

"What happened?"

"Guess."

Wade uttered a chuckle laced with contempt for the name he was about to say, "Bill Locke?"

"Wanna hear about it?"

"Woops, maybe later," Wade answered as if suddenly distracted by something, "In the meantime-"

"I can get it." Ron insisted, "There's only one place he can sell it. I just need to-"

"I'm sure Wil Du will handle it, Ron." Wade said even more insistently, "Right now I've got a very important call for you from your wife."

"Oh," Ron said, surprised. Kim usually didn't call him while he was on missions, "Put her through."

Wade's face was replaced by an image of a little girl with a shock of very red hair on her head.

"Durgle!" She squealed excitedly.

"Hi, sweetheart!" Ron exclaimed touching the screen with his hand, "Where's Mommy? Is she there?"

A pair of hands reached into the frame, picked up the little girl and set her down somewhere off screen. Then Ron's wife Kim sat down and gazed at him, it was clear she had been crying.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Ron asked with rapidly growing concern.

"Can you come home, Ron?" Kim asked, sniffing back a sob, "Nana died this afternoon."

* * *

"… and so we commit the body of Marion Zimmer Possible to the ground, back to the dust from whence it came. Her soul having already gone on to its final glory with Almighty God, her body shall rest until the return of Christ, when all shall rise, and the sea will give up its dead; our bodies made new in the twinkling of an eye. Marion's legacy lives on in her children; two beloved sons: Dustin "Slim" Possible, and James Timothy Possible. She is also survived by five loving grandchildren: Lawrence, Kimberly, Jocelyn, James, and Timothy, and one great-grandchild: Veronica. The Possible family would like to thank you all for coming today, this concludes our service."

It was a sunny afternoon at Middleton Cemetery. Most of the family members were seated while the rest stood in a small cluster near a freshly dug grave. An American flag, draped over the coffin, was removed and folded by an elderly gentleman into a tight triangle shape, and handed to Kim's uncle Slim.

Kim dabbed at her eyes with a tissue as she watched her grandmother's coffin slowly descend to its final resting place. On one side of her sat her husband, while on the other sat her mother, who was holding Ronnie-Anne in her lap. The little girl was oblivious to the solemnity of the proceedings and occasionally squirmed in her grandmother's embrace.

There were quite a few elderly people wearing army uniforms in attendance. Kim knew none of them. Indeed, she had been quite surprised earlier to see the flag draped over Nana's coffin. Kim knew this was an honor generally reserved for members of the military, police officers, and firefighters.

She was about to ask her father if he knew any of these people when she noticed his chair was empty. She craned her head around and spotted him talking to an extremely old man a short distance away. The old man had a cane, but stood straight and tall. He wore a gray flannel suit that had clearly seen better days and wore an old brown fedora on his head.

Kim got up and walked over to her father's side. James had been talking quietly to the old man, but stopped when Kim approached.

"Kimmie cub," her father said with a solemn smile, "There's someone here I want you to meet. In fact, I've been hoping to introduce you to him for quite some time now but the opportunity never seemed to come up. This is Doctor Henry Jones."

The old man put out his hand, and Kim gently shook it. She noticed he was wearing an eye patch over his left eye, while the other seemed to twinkle with a lively enthusiasm.

He had a very firm grip for a man of his advanced years.

"Everyone calls me 'Indiana'," He said with a sort of lopsided grin.

"Pleasure to meet you." Kim said courteously.

"Kim," her father laid a tender hand on her shoulder, "There is something I need to tell you, and it's very important."

Kim looked at him, puzzled but expectant.

James continued, "Doctor Jones here is my father… your grandfather."


	2. Opium

Author's holiday greetings: I'm afraid that due to holiday activities and such, chapter 3 won't be out until after the new year. In the meantime, Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it, Happy Holidays to everyone else. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you guys in '06!

Regarding the reply function on signed reviews: I've decided to use it for specific replies, such as answers to questions, or addressing criticisms and such. I think this is a better use of that particular feature. Otherwise, everyone who leaves a review for my story will be publicly thanked at the beginning of each chapter as I usually do. And speaking of which…

Feliz Navidad to: swiglo3000, campy, PseudoJuliet, JPMod, Commander Argus, jasminevr, Mutt Li, kemiztri, Seamus Dubh, Pwn Master Paladin, Zaratan, hopeless-romantic-nr-one, MrDrP, Puppyface, Recon228, Scoutcraft Piratess, Mattb3671, Nickel Hound, Cabriel, Manchester Black, Ace Ian Combat, Lydia King, Qracer23, Widow Shark.

"The man in the hat is back..."

* * *

Chapter 2. Opium

* * *

"I thought Grandpa Possible died during the Korean War."

"Well, you see Kimmie-cub, that's the official version. The truth is, your uncle Slim's father was killed in action in World War Two. He was a casualty in Operation Market Garden. And his name wasn't 'Possible', it was Johnson; James Timothy Johnson. He was nineteen when he died, about five years younger than your Nana."

"Then Uncle Slim is actually-"

"My half-brother… I understand this is a lot to take in. If you'd rather wait until we get home…"

"No, I want to hear this now. You can tell me on the way home, though. What's this all about? Why have I not heard any of this before?"

"Well…it…it's kind of a long story."

"Then I'd like to hear it. In fact, I'd like to hear it from Doctor Jones if he doesn't mind. Doctor Jones?"

"I should probably go home, your father can tell you ev-… yes, well, I have certainly seen that look before. You aren't going to let me go until I've told you my story… no, don't answer that. I can see it in your eyes. It's the same stubbornness I saw in hers… a lot… OK, well, where to begin? …When I first met your grandmother, she…no, I suppose I should work my way up to that… It was early 1946. I was in the Solomon Islands at the request of a wealthy British collector. He'd uncovered a legend; rumors of an ancient dagger…"

* * *

Doctor Henry Jones Junior – Indiana to those who knew him – sat at the wheel of a United States military transport truck on a narrow, one-lane road that twisted through the jungle terrain about twenty miles east of the village of Tangarare, on the island of Guadalcanal, in the group of islands known as the Solomons. It was April of 1946, three years after the pivotal battle that had taken place on that island; the battle that turned the tide of the War in the Pacific.

He had 'rented' the truck from a less-than-scrupulous sergeant by the name of Fuller at the U.S. military base on the north end of the island. Though the war had ended the year before, U.S. forces were still attempting to withdraw from various island bases throughout the South Pacific, and since Guadalcanal was one of the minor installations, it wasn't high on the priority list.

The truck came equipped with extra fuel cans, some bedding, four days worth of food and a couple of spare tires in the back. Indy was surprised to find the supplies, since his 'rental' fee was really more of a bribe to get Sergeant Fuller – who was in charge of the motor pool - to look the other way while he borrowed the truck. Had he taken the wrong vehicle? Should he turn back? Indy didn't want to risk returning to the base without his prize.

And today he was close. He could feel it.

Research and investigation had brought him to the Solomons, and specifically to the village of Tangarare. Tales told by the village elders had brought him up this road.

Indy took his hat off, wiped his sweaty brow, and put it back on again. As he was in the tropics, he simply wore his khaki shirt and canvas pants with the familiar satchel slung over one shoulder. His customary leather jacket lay on the seat next to him. And though he had his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, there was no power on earth that would make him remove the hat. That brown fedora was just as much a part of him as was the revolver in the holster clipped to his belt, or the coiled bullwhip that lay on his jacket next to him.

Though fate seemed to saddle him with companions for some of his adventures, today Indiana Jones was working alone, and that was the way he preferred it.

The single lane road was pitted and rutted with endless potholes and mud bogs. Indy was surprised to find the truck had made it this far. But there was something odd about this trail that wound through the jungle toward the mountain in the distance. Though the road was rough, it wasn't impassable. In fact, it looked as though it was used regularly.

Indy got another surprise when the road emerged from the jungle, crossed a wide river over a rickety wooden bridge, and began to traverse the side of the mountain in long, straight switchbacks. He had planned on continuing up the mountain on foot, since his map showed the trail as ending at the river. But it looked as though the bridge would be able to handle the weight of the truck, so Indy shifted to first gear and slowly made his way across. On the far side, he stopped, got out of the truck and peered up the slope, squinting his eyes into the mid-morning sun. The day was too bright for him to get a good look at the road ahead, but he thought he saw a some patches of snow on the upper slopes.

That was impossible, however. In these tropical regions the mountains were barely four thousand feet above sea level. Not even high enough on a cold day to get snow.

Indy put the truck into gear and began climbing the mountain road, barely able to make the hairpin turns whenever the road switched back toward the other direction.

His destination was near the summit. The village elders spoke of a shallow grave near a certain stand of trees. They also spoke of a great evil that would descend from the mountaintop from time to time and make off with one or two of the village women. For an inexperienced person it would have been difficult to sift through the legends and derive fact from folklore. But Indy was a man who could decipher even the murkiest mythology and superstitions. Every story had an origin, every tale a foundation rooted somewhere in the truth; sometimes that truth was buried amidst the ruins of old beliefs and traditions.

The truck climbed higher, the air grew cooler and the white patches drew nearer. On one northern switchback, as he swung around the hairpin turn, Indy looked down to see the river hundreds of feet below; the sheer cliff dropped all the way to a large, green pool fed by a waterfall. Small clumps of trees protruded from various locations on the face of the cliff, some of which stuck out horizontally, lying straight out to soak up the tropical sun. As Indy completed the turn, the wheels of the truck slid into two deep grooves in the road; ruts that had been forged by repeated driving during the rainy season. And whatever had driven up and down this road, it was heavy. Indiana almost didn't need to steer, the shallow parallel trenches were deep enough that the truck practically guided itself up the long, straight incline.

Once he made the next hairpin turn, the same thing happened; the wheels slid into two grooves in the road and the truck practically steered itself as it climbed ever higher.

After close to an hour of climbing at an almost maddeningly slow pace, Indy finally got the answer as to just what those white patches were; flowers. More specifically, they were poppies. Fields of white blossoms were on either side of the road. No doubt they thrived in the cooler temperatures and drier air of the mountainside, whereas they would not grow very well down near sea level.

Indy didn't notice the people at first. They were standing stock still and did not move, all eyes staring at him. Some were standing in a group near the road, others were in the field. It took another moment for Indy to make a rather significant discovery; they were all Polynesian women, most likely from the village below.

Without noticing, Indy allowed the truck to slow down until it finally sputtered to a complete halt, the engine dying out altogether. Indy's eyes scanned out across the fields as dozens of other eyes returned his gaze.

Then, a loud series of cracks. Several gunshots rang out, and a voice bellowed in English:

"What the bloody hell are you all standing around for? Get back to work!"

At the sound of the shots, all the women immediately resumed what they had been doing.

Indy ducked, instinctively unsnapping the holster on his gun. But the words spoken in English had aroused his curiosity. He set the handbrake on the truck, opened the door and stood up to get a better look at who had spoken.

He was a tall, blonde man wearing the tattered remains of an Australian infantry uniform. Indy noted that he carried a service revolver as well as an Austen Mark One series submachine gun; standard issue for Australian infantry during the war. He stood, suspiciously eying the truck, his gun pointed halfway between Indy and the ground. Taking this as a positive sign, Jones decided to play it friendly.

"Good morning!" He said in his most casual tone, as if he were meeting a colleague at a lunch counter, "I was wondering if you could help me."

The Australian walked through the field, careful not to tread on any of the poppies and walked right up to the truck.

"Depends on what kind of help you're looking for, mate." The man replied equally as casual, though an undertone of menace in his voice was not lost on Indy.

"I'm Doctor Jones, I'm a professor of archeology at Marshall College, here on an expedition. I'm looking for the grave of a seventeenth century British sailor, and my research led me up this mountain. Do you have any idea where that grave might be?"

The man shifted his weight, but the gun lowered so that it was pointing straight at the ground now. Indy let out a silent sigh of relief.

"I'm afraid I don't," the man said scratching his head absently, "But Raynard might know something about it. You can give me a lift up to the main building and we'll go talk to him."

Indy nodded and gestured toward the passenger side of the truck. As he sat back down in the cab, he realized his gun had been hidden from the Australian by the partially open door. As quickly as he could, he undid the holster and slid the gun under his seat, getting it there a second before the passenger door swung open.

"You some kind of lion tamer, mate?" The Australian eyed the whip.

Indy forced a relaxed chuckle, "It does actually help me deal with unruly animals, and it's lighter than a gun; plus it never runs out of ammunition."

The Australian laughed a loud, obnoxious laugh, "That's bloody brilliant! I should talk to Raynard about getting a couple of those. Might help keep the girls in line, eh?"

Indy smiled but his eyes were hard and mirthless. His suspicions about this place had just been confirmed.

"My mates call me 'Ding'", The Australian stuck out a filthy hand, "Kinda like 'Dingo'."

"Indiana," he replied, shaking the hand and hiding his disgust.

The truck cranked to life and Indy drove it on up the slope, through the fields of white poppies and around a shallow curve coming to rest on a wide, flat surface that had been partially dug out of the mountainside. At the far end was a large building with several pipe-style chimneys in various locations. Smoke was coming out of all of them. On this side were parked a military transport truck similar to Indy's as well as two jeeps, though all the insignias that indicated their status as United States military vehicles had been removed or scratched off. A large-caliber machine gun was mounted to the back of one of the jeeps.

Attached to the larger building was a smaller addition with one window facing outward. A longer building rested against the partially dug out portion of the mountainside. It had no windows and only one door at the far end. All the buildings were made of ramshackle corrugated tin sheeting and looked as if a good stiff breeze could knock them over.

Without asking, Ding reached over and tapped the horn a couple of times.

Three men walked out of the large building, while one emerged from the attached portion. Two of the three men from the large building wore tattered American military uniforms, as did the one who walked out of the attachment. The remaining man wore an Australian uniform.

"What are you on about, Ding?" The man who had exited the attachment asked in an annoyed American accent, "Who is this?"

"This bloke's Dr. Indiana Jones, from the States!" Ding practically gushed, "He's an archeologist. Says some ancient Brit sailor's buried up here somewhere and he wants to have a look."

Indy took one more quick glance around, got out of the truck, and stepped up to the annoyed American. He gambled on a hunch, "You Raynard? Fuller told me to keep an eye out for you when I got up here; said it was best to check in with you before I went looking around."

"You know Sergeant Fuller?" Raynard's eyes narrowed a tad.

And the unseen round of poker began. Indy wondered who would be the first to call whose bluff.

"I only met him when I arrived at the base. I told him where I wanted to go, he gave me the use of the truck and told me to stop in and check with you gentlemen before proceeding." Indy lied. Fuller hadn't told him a thing because Indy wouldn't tell him where he was going.

"He 'gave you the use of the truck'?"

Indy chuckled and put on a sheepish expression as though he'd been caught telling a fib, "I suppose you could say 'rented'."

Raynard chuckled, "The man's a thief all right. So tell me about this grave. If there's buried treasure I may have to go along with you."

Indy shrugged, "Sure, you can go along if you like. I'm afraid you're likely to be disappointed, though. No treasure or anything like that. I'm hoping to find a journal this person might have kept on his voyages through these parts. His name was Silas Gardner; he was the first mate on an expedition that was never heard from after he died. My colleagues and I are hoping his personal journal might shed some light on what happened."

"You mean like course heading, last known whereabouts, conditions of the ship, things like that?" Raynard queried.

_OK, this guy isn't stupid,_ Indy thought to himself. He forced a wide grin to his face and exclaimed, "Exactly! Tell you what; my colleagues and I are really only interested in the journal. If Gardner was buried with anything of real value, like a pocket watch or any gold pieces, you fellows can have 'em. You know, for your troubles."

Raynard's men turned hopeful eyes toward him, but his expression remained impassive, as though he was thinking it over. Raynard glanced around almost warily.

_He's already got the dagger_, Indy thought to himself, _But he doesn't want me or anyone else to know it._

* * *

It was called 'Cook's Dagger', and there was supposed to be a curse on it.

When Captain James Cook sailed from Tahiti for the final time in 1777, he did not go with the good graces of king Tu; one of the more powerful chiefs in the Tahitian islands. Tu was embroiled in a tribal war at the time of Cook's visit, and asked the British Sea Captain to sell or trade firearms to him. Cook refused, telling Tu that Britain did not wish to take sides in the conflict.

Though he did not show any outward emotion at the news, legend asserts that Tu was furious. Just before Cook sailed away on his ship, the HMS _Resolution_, King Tu presented Cook with a gift; a ceremonial dagger with an ornately carved bone handle and a thick, sharpened shard of conch shell for the blade. Legend further asserts that Tu had his chief shaman put a curse on the dagger so that anyone who carried it would suffer grave misfortune for the rest of their lives.

Whether or not the curse was real is, of course, a matter for debate and speculation.

What is not in dispute is the fact that Cook did indeed suffer from a string of misfortunes after leaving Tahiti. From those islands, he sailed north, eventually reaching the west coast of North America in 1778. He spent the better part of a year mapping the shoreline from what is now California all the way up to what is now Alaska. His first bit of misfortune was something of a blunder that has stained his otherwise impeccable record of exploration. Because the Straits of San Juan de Fuca were so narrow, Cook's survey team missed it altogether, and the Puget Sound - third of the three largest natural harbors in North America – would later be discovered by a Spanish explorer. Discovering the Puget Sound would not have been remembered as a monumental accomplishment, but because Cook missed one of the largest natural bays in the world, it was considered a monumental blunder.

Then things got worse. Cook attempted to sail his ships, the _Resolution _and the HMS _Discovery_, through the Bering Straits only to be turned back by ice that almost destroyed his vessels. It took months to get out of the frigid seas and both his food and his crews' morale ran low. Food supplies were exhausted several days before they were able to get back to the lower Alaskan coastline (and what is known today is Cook's Inlet). Cook ordered the crew to slaughter and prepare two walruses, despite everyone's knowledge that walrus isn't edible. And while most of the crew abstained from the meal, Cook fell to with a hearty appetite. He developed a permanent stomach ailment so severe that it affected his disposition, causing him to be a constantly angry man, given to fits of rage and lashing out at his crew for no justification whatsoever.

After re-supplying on the Alaskan coast, Cook sailed south to the Sandwich Islands (today known as Hawaii) where, On February 14, 1779 he was clubbed and stabbed to death by a mob of natives after he lost his temper and tried to administer severe punishment to several native boys who had stolen a longboat.

After his death, many of Cook's possessions were given to the senior officers as keepsakes of their beloved captain.

The dagger was given to the master and commander of the HMS _Resolution_; William Bligh.

It was a fairly uneventful trip back to Britain for Bligh, and for several years, his life was relatively free of misfortune. He married in 1781, and fought in a few battles, though he never really came close to death or harm.

Bligh's problems began in 1787 when he was appointed captain of the HMS _Bounty_. To this day, no one is quite sure exactly why his crew mutinied against him, setting him adrift (without the dagger) in the middle of the vast Pacific ocean with barely any food or water. Many believe he was a harsh taskmaster of a captain, but there has never been any record before or since of his temper or tyrannical personality. Others say the crew became too enamored with the women of Tahiti and did not wish to leave when their six month stay was at an end. Whatever the reason, poor leadership certainly played a factor, because after his miraculous journey with eight crewmen adrift in the longboat – a journey in which they drifted more then 3500 nautical miles – Bligh was sent back to England and endured an embarrassing public inquiry into the mutiny. Some years later, Bligh was made Governor of New South Wales in 1805. While serving in that position, the citizenry rebelled against his plans to tax local sales of rum. They overpowered the militia and imprisoned Bligh for three years. Bligh died penniless and alone in England years later.

Onboard the _Bounty_, the dagger was taken into the possession of James Turner, a gunner's mate who had participated in the mutiny. When the remaining crew of the _Bounty_ reached Pitcairn's island, Turner was already ill with scurvy and died in his sleep having never set foot on the island itself. There were rumors that he'd been murdered, but they were never proven.

The dagger was taken by Gunner's Chief Robert Warwick. Warwick was a temperamental character prone to drinking and bouts of rage. He barely survived many fights and several attempts to kill him, though he sustained very severe injuries along the way. Warwick was finally killed when he resisted the crew of the HMS _Pandora_ who had come to Pitcairn's island seeking to bring the mutinous _Bounty_ crew to justice.

Cook's dagger was then taken by _Pandora_'s captain Edward Edwards, a particularly cruel and vicious man who's eagerness to see the crew of the _Bounty_ hanged impaired his navigational judgment. The _Pandora_ ran aground on the Great Barrier Reef, killing 31 of the crew and 4 of the prisoners, seriously injuring Edwards himself. The survivors were forced to live aboard the grounded vessel far out in the middle of the ocean until the HMS _Hector_ spotted the foundering _Pandora_ and recovered the crew and prisoners. Edwards attempted to bribe the captain of the _Hector_ in agreeing to a story that the _Pandora_ was forced aground by a storm. His choice of payment; the dagger.

Edwards' was publicly court-martialed by the captain of the _Hector_, the dagger was taken from him, and he was brought home to England where he suffered from ill health the rest of his life.

And finally, Cook's Dagger came into the possession of the _Hector's_ First Mate; Silas Gardner. On a routine supply stop in the Solomon Islands, Gardner and a hunting party wandered too far into the jungles of Guadalcanal and were unable to find their way back to the beach. The captain of the _Hector _sent out search parties for several days, but eventually gave the party up for lost and sailed home for England.

The hunting party, hoping to get their bearings, reached the summit in time to see the _Hector _sailing northeast. Attempts to build a signal fire were unsuccessful and the men had to watch helplessly as their ship slowly moved out of sight.Unfortunately for Silas Gardner, he was blamed for the party's misplacing itself and killed with his own dagger – Cook's dagger – and was subsequently buried with it where he had fallen.

A simple wooden cross was erected to mark his grave.

* * *

"Interesting, only his name is carved into the cross." Indy straightened up and removed his spectacles, "It's too bad this grave is so shallow. I looks as though wild animals probably got in here at some point."

Raynard, Ding and the other two men nodded.

Indy didn't need spectacles for anything other than reading, but he felt it would help lend an air of scholarship about him as he conducted his little expedition. He knew once he'd mentioned the possibility of wealth, Raynard's men would want to come see for themselves. And while Raynard probably would not have otherwise allowed it, he had a motive for wanting his men to come up here and find nothing. Finding nothing meant they wouldn't be asking any meddlesome questions.

The biggest problem Indy had was whether or not Raynard was going to allow him to leave the mountain alive after all was said and done. Indy knew the other man was not the type to just let a person walk away after seeing what Indy had seen, despite the fact that he hadn't even been inside the buildings.

It wasn't too difficult for Indy to put two and two (and two) together. Fields of white poppies, plus slave labor from the village below, plus chimneys with smoke in a climate where one did not need heat equaled opium farm.

Indy cursed himself for not listening more closely to the village elders. He was only interested in the whereabouts of Gardner's grave, and already knew of the legend of the curse of Cook's Dagger. But he assumed the elders were speaking of that curse when they talked of an evil that descended from the mountain and carried away the women of the village.

These guys were probably deserters, either when the war ended or even as far back as the battle on Guadalcanal itself. Raynard was probably the brains of the outfit, since Ding and the others didn't seem to posses a great deal of intelligence.

Because of the temperate climate, the growing season was basically perpetual. Raynard probably had a crop-rotating system so that every few months, something could be harvested, processed, and then shipped out via truck. But shipping the processed opium to the base was too risky. Very likely there was a sea plane that made regular visits somewhere at the closest point on the coast and the product would go to Australia for further distribution or directly to the opium dens in Indonesia.

Since the nearest law enforcement was in the capital city of Honiara, about ten hours away by rugged jungle roads, the operation was too remote for authorities to deal with properly. And though these men were likely wanted by the United States and Australian militaries for desertion, this was not within their jurisdiction. Action on the part of the U.S. Military would have been a politically sticky situation unless they had real justification. Unfortunately the existence of an illegal narcotics operation wasn't enough. Tensions were mounting between the United States and the Soviet Union and the two governments were already feeling the need to tiptoe around each other.

"It doesn't look like your journal's here either, mate." Ding observed.

"No," Indy feigned disappointment, "Either it rotted away because he was buried too close to the surface or those wild animals got to it."

There was no journal, of course, but Indy wasn't about to let the men know a potentially priceless artifact was the real reason he'd come up here. And neither had there been wild animals. Raynard had found the grave and probably unearthed it in a haze of opium-induced curiosity. It _had_ to be Raynard who was in possession of the dagger, Indy was sure of it. One of the other men would have mentioned its existence if they knew about it, and they likely would have fought over ownership of the prize if Indy had told them what it was. No, either Raynard found the grave by happenstance, or more likely, heard the legend from one of the village women. He was probably trying to figure out how he could ship the dagger somewhere in which he could exchange it for money or something valuable. Best guess: give it to the pilot of the seaplane and cut him in on the deal.

"No pocket watch or anything like that," Ding further observed after rooting around what was left of the skeleton.

Indy put his spectacles back on. Not only was he trying to project an air of scholarship, but one of weakness as well. If he came off looking and sounding like a run-of-the-mill college professor, then they wouldn't see him as a threat.

"Well, that sure is a shame," Indiana huffed, "My financial backers are going to be real disappointed. You know, I'll probably just go back and tell them I was never able to find the grave at all. If they knew I had found it but came home empty-handed they'd be less likely to finance my next trip. Then I'd have to go into the tropical flower business like you gentlemen."

"Tropical flower business?" Ding guffawed, then shut up when Raynard shot him a glance.

"Well, sure!" Indy enthused, "That's what I figured from your fields of white flowers. You know I got a lady friend back home and I give her roses all the time. And does she appreciate it? She sure doesn't. She's always telling me to buy her a… gosh, I don't even know what they're called… orchids? Anyway, I went to the flower shop one day to get her a couple of those, and just one cost more than a dozen roses. Yes sir, you must do pretty well for yourselves here."

Indy locked eyes with Raynard for a brief second and watched as the other man completely relaxed.

"Tropical flowers… yeah. We do all right," Raynard said nodding. "Will you be heading back tonight?"

Indy looked up at the sky. The clouds overhead were already lined with pink.

"Boy, I sure hate the idea of driving down that road in the dark," he worried, "Would it be OK with you fellows if I just slept in my truck and left in the morning?"

"I don't see why not," Raynard said, smiling for the first time since Indy arrived. To his surprise, Raynard actually winked at him, "But you'll have to keep our tropical flower business a secret. If the government of the Solomons found out, they'd charge us heavy taxes and we'd be put out of business."

Indy chuckled and told the truth for perhaps the first time since he arrived, "If the government of the Solomons knew I was grave-robbing, they'd have me arrested… or worse."

"Well, if that does happen, we'll spring ya, mate. Raynard here can fly you out on the next delivery of…flowers." Ding cracked.

All of the men except Raynard laughed in response to this. Indy hesitated for a split second and then laughed as well. Raynard glanced at him when Ding said 'fly you out', perhaps looking for some sort of indication that Indy was more than he claimed he was.

_Of course!_ Indy mentally berated himself for guessing wrong, _Raynard IS the pilot. He drives the product to wherever the plane is tied up and flies it out himself, that way he can oversee the transactions on the other end. Then he returns with a plane-load of supplies and hauls it back up the mountain, splitting the profits with his men. When he heads out on his next run, he'll be selling the dagger himself._

It took about a half hour to descend back to the compound and the daylight was almost completely gone by then. The men joked and laughed with Indy who nervously laughed at all their attempted witticisms.

When they returned, the women had come in from the fields and were preparing an evening meal around an open flame. Indy noted with some disgust that the men even made them do all the cooking, and he suspected they were probably used for darker purposes as well.

His suspicions were confirmed later that evening, just as he was bedding down for the night. Torchlight appeared at the open end of Indy's truck.

"Jones? You still awake?" it was Raynard, and he wasn't alone.

Indy put on his spectacles and poked his head out the back of the truck, "I sure am Mr. Raynard. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I think there's something I can do for you." Raynard's tone had the slightest tinge of menace. "This is Bessie. I thought you could use some company for the night. You know, help you forget all about that frigid lady friend of yours back home for awhile."

Raynard lowered the torch a little to reveal a young Polynesian woman, probably not much older than twenty. She had a vacant look in her eyes which she kept cast downward. She wasn't frightened. Her fear had long ago been worn away. She simply looked numb and emotionless.

Indy feigned a nervous chuckle, "Oh, well, I certainly appreciate the gesture, Mr. Raynard. But I really should get an early start in the morning."

"Bessie here will help you fall asleep," the menace in Raynard's tone was more palpable.

The man was trying to get Indy to do something that would ensure his silence when he left in the morning. Indy realized it was the only way he was going to get off the mountain alive. He decided to play into Raynard's confidence.

"Well… Bessie seems a little advanced in years, if you take my meaning." Indy tried to sound sleazy, but wasn't very good at it.

"I know exactly what you mean." Raynard responded with a knowing smile. "I'll be right back."

Indy noted Raynard was quite good at sounding sleazy.

Jones sat in the truck and watched the other two walk toward the long building with no windows. He wondered what he would have done if he'd been able to get the dagger without Raynard knowing. Would he have walked away; just an archeologist minding his own business? Was he just here for the dagger while anything else that happened was simply incidental?

Raynard was back before Indy could arrive at a conclusion.

"This is Matilda," the man said with a dark smile, "She still puts up a bit of a fight but I think she'll be more to your liking."

The girl Raynard referred to as 'Matilda' was clearly younger than 'Bessie'. Indy didn't even want to guess how much younger. She was very frightened, and her eyes kept darting back and forth between the two men.

"That'll be just fine!" Indy barely managed to force a smile, "You have yourself a good night Mr. Raynard!"

He reached down, pulled the girl up into the truck and dropped the rear canvas flap, cutting off Raynard's view. He heard the other man chuckle, then watched as the torchlight faded and disappeared.

Indy struck up a match. The girl had crawled all the way into the truck and was huddled up in a corner near the cab, her knees pulled up to her chest. Indy moved toward her. The girl whimpered and curled up even tighter.

He knew most of the Polynesian dialects, though this particular one was somewhat derivative. It was part of the reason he had so much trouble communicating clearly with the village elders.

"Do you understand what I am saying?" Indy leaned in close and whispered right next to the girl's ear.

Her breath quickened and she whimpered again. Indy repeated the question.

"Yes." She finally managed to whisper.

"Good," Indy replied, "I want you to listen to me very, very carefully…"

* * *

"You're leaving now?" Kim asked her husband, incredulous.

"I'm sorry," Ron shrugged apologetically, "I really do want to hear the rest of this, but if I don't talk to Wil today, he's going to move forward on the IDOL situation with another agent."

They were all sitting in the living room of the Possible residence. Even the twins were listening in rapt attention to Indiana's tale (after all, he was their grandfather as well), as was Kim's father; who apparently hadn't heard this part of the story before. Veronica was upstairs on Kim's old bed taking a nap, while Rufus sat on Kim's desk and watched over her.

Kim got up and followed her husband to the front door.

"Ron," She whispered urgently, "I just found out this man is my grandfather on the same day we laid Nana to rest. I know this whole IDOL situation's got you bothered, but I'm asking you to put family first here."

Ron smiled and looked into her eyes, "That's exactly what I'm doing, sweetheart."

She returned his gaze with a quizzical one.

"Your brother is in a lot of trouble," Ron continued, "I know you're finding out a lot of serious stuff today. But in truth, Kim, that's in the past. Jim's future is at stake here. If there is some way I can help save it, then I need to be out there, and today's the only day Wil has off. Tomorrow he starts up a new work week and he's going to assign another agent to this because I didn't come back with the IDOL. I need to go and convince him to let me stay on this."

Kim said nothing but Ron could see in her eyes that she understood. She wanted him at home, to be with her while she learned some rather startling things about her heritage. But Jim _was_ in trouble… she was conflicted.

"If this weren't about Jim…" She began.

"…then I'd be here listening to Dr. Jones' story." Ron finished, "But it _is_ about Jim, and he's just as much family to me as my brothers would be if I had any."

Kim nodded. Ron squeezed her hand, kissed her forehead, and whispered "I love you" before slipping quietly out the door.

Twenty minutes later he was in Wil Du's den. The director of Global Justice was in the middle of watching his newly-purchased Speed Racer DVD boxed set with his wife, Justine. Normally he reserved his days off for spending time with her. He had a standing policy never to see an agent or discuss work at home. But since it was Ron, and this was something of a family matter for him, Wil made a rare exception.

"Can I get you some coffee or anything, Ron?" Justine's tone was courteous, but a little cold.

"No, thank you Justine," Ron answered politely, despite the fact that he could use a cup of coffee. Sometimes it was better to give the right answer and go without something he wanted. Marriage to Kim Possible had taught him a lot.

Justine nodded then left him alone with her husband.

"Sorry if I got you in trouble, Wil," Ron said quietly.

"I'm not in trouble. And she's not mad at you either," Wil explained, "She just doesn't want me setting a precedent of working on my day off. Frankly, I agree with her. I'm guessing this is about the IDOL."

Ron nodded, "Something's been bugging me for the last few days; something I didn't put in my report."

"You left something out of your report?" Wil asked in a very serious tone. He got up and retrieved his laptop, accessed GJ files, and pulled up Ron's account of the mission.

"Not deliberately," Ron assured him, "But there's something that's been bugging me about the whole Zapruder issue."

"Something other than the fact that he was a double agent?"

"Well, yeah. In retrospect it makes sense that he hung back during the confrontation with the security guards."

"He was hoping they'd finish you off, then he could go after the IDOL."

"Right. At one point he complained about me destroying the security console. I think he intended to shut off all the security and defensive systems, then put a sleeper dart into me and take the IDOL for himself."

"OK… and it says here you asked him to eliminate some of the guards with this sleeper dart gun of his. He told you he had a limited number of shots."

"Yes," Ron said nodding, "And I'm having a hard time believing Justice Internacional would design a one-time use weapon."

"Once you destroyed the security console, Zapruder needed you to get the IDOL first before he could make a move."

"Because some of those defensive systems were still active. He didn't know how he'd get through them, so he decided to see if I could overcome them, and I did. But back to those security guards…"

"Yes?"

"Zapruder translated what they were saying for my benefit, but when I was behind the security console, one of them shouted something, presumably at me."

"Yeah," Wil nodded, "That's right here in your report."

"But I could swear that guard shouted something in Spanish."

Wil looked up at him, "Spanish? You're sure?"

"Almost positive." Ron said firmly, "And since Brazilians speak Portuguese…"

"You think they were plants?"

"I think they and Zapruder were plants. Zapruder infiltrated Justice Internacional while Locke brought those guards in and had them placed on staff at the Hovito Corporation."

"So you think Zapruder was working for Locke." Will concluded, "But since Locke was supposed to be working for Arianna, why not just go in and take the IDOL at his leisure?"

"Because Arianna would come after him. Locke couldn't come to Middleton and steal the IDOL himself; he's a double agent and very high on GJ's wanted list. We're keeping a sharp eye out for him, especially here in Middleton. He enticed Arianna with the idea that she could steal the IDOL and maybe sell it, then convinced her to use her relationship with Jim to get close to it. Locke knew we'd be coming after the IDOL, and that we'd have to disable the exterior surveillance cameras."

"Which is why he was waiting for you outside."

"Yeah. With those cameras disabled, there's no way she would know Locke made off with the IDOL… and there's no way she'd trust us if we told her she was double-crossed by someone working for her. She'd think we were trying to set her up."

"You don't think he's going to sell it..."

"After going to all that trouble? No way," Ron said emphatically, "He's after something bigger. But I have no idea what it might be."

Wil sat back and looked thoughtful, "I should be putting you on administrative leave, you know. You genuinely don't think Jim's been compromised?"

Ron grinned, "Not in terms where his loyalties lie. If Locke has betrayed Ariana, then Jim's role in this was only to be distracted while she came to steal the IDOL. He _is_ in love with her, and that can do weird stuff to a guy."

"Yeah," Wil agreed, "Believe me, I know what it's like to be subjected to feminine charms and wiles, and eventually succumb to them."

Ron bit his tongue and kept this mouth shut. There was a running joke going around Global Justice that Wil Du must be part Eskimo because he liked a frigid climate. The idea of Justine being a seductress went against everything her personality seemed to indicate, at least in public. But then again, Ron saw a side of Kim in the bedroom that he never even dreamed… anyway, it was none of his business.

"Alright." Will said after a couple of minutes' thought. "You can stay on it. I'm taking a huge risk with this, Ron. Now it's my career on the line if you fail. But you seem to have a knack for these kinds of assignments. Your operative status is still 'Deep Field', but if you screw up just once, we're all going to be looking for work in the near future."

Ron stood up and shook his boss's hand, "Thanks, Wil. I won't let you down."

Wil nodded and returned the handshake, "Well, Justine says you guys did save the universe awhile back. I suppose that deserves some sort of credit."

Ron laughed, then showed himself to the door. Wil was right, he was taking a big risk on this. He hoped he would be able to follow through, not just for Wil's sake, but for Jim as well. Ron got into the Ninjet and cranked up the engines, already wondering how much of Dr. Jones' story he'd missed…

* * *

Five o'clock in the morning, and despite the fact that this was a tropical climate, the man standing watch still got pretty chilly this time of night. The light in the east was just turning from deep blue to pale gray. Sunrise was not too far off.

His name was Roger Denham, he'd been in Ding's platoon during the war. He had a wife and two kids back in Australia who had no idea where he was. The Australian Ministry of Defense listed him as 'Missing in Action, Presumed Dead'. But marriage life had been stifling for Roger, and as soon as the war ended, Ding came to him with an idea a Yank friend of his had. Denham went along without thinking twice.

Sometimes, though, Roger had his regrets. He often wondered what his kids looked like these days, or if his wife had re-married. He tried not to think about it too much, but whenever it was his turn to stand watch, those thoughts would creep into his head during the deepest recesses of the night.

The purpose of the guard, of course, was not so much to keep anyone out, but to keep the women from escaping. Early on they'd often try to get away at night, and Raynard and a couple of others would have to go into the village and 'acquire' another worker or two. Women were easier to keep control of. They were much more easily intimidated, worked just as hard as any man, and they kept the men warm on the nights they didn't have to stand guard.

Denham shifted his weight a couple of times just to keep his joints from stiffening up in the chilly air. He stood under the only exterior light, which cast a fairly bright circle all about him. It was difficult for him to see beyond that circle of light when the night was at its darkest. But this was mostly about being seen and less about seeing. If the women saw a man standing guard, they were usually too afraid to try and slip away.

Denham was just shifting the Austen submachine gun from one hand to the other when a whirring/whooshing sound came out of the night, just beyond the circle of light. A slim tendril of leather lashed itself around the weapon with a loud _crack_, stinging Denham's hands in the process. The gun was violently jerked away from his grasp and sailed out of his range of visibility. He uttered a yelp and squinted his eyes against the brightness, attempting to see out into the dim early morning. He could just barely make out the form of someone beyond where the light reached. Whoever it was seemed to be twirling around in a circle, arms stretched out before him. Then Denham caught movement from the right in the corner of his eye. He turned his head just in time to see his own gun, still attached to the leather strand, sailing toward him. He didn't even have time to put up his hands. The machine gun caught him on the side of the head with a blinding, skull-shattering impact, spun him halfway around, and sent him to the ground in a heap.

Roger Denham's final thoughts were of his wife, his kids, and the words _I'm sorry._

The machine gun fell to the ground next to Denham with a clatter. Indy jerked the whip toward him and the gun sailed though the air and into his grasp. He quickly detached the whip, coiled it up, and returned it to the clip attached to his belt.

Indy then strode over to where Denham lay, quickly checked to see if he was a threat, then stood up and smashed out the light with the butt of the machine gun. He turned and nodded at the truck. The girl – whose actual name was Aroa – crept out of the back of Indy's truck and began making her way stealthily toward the door of the long building. Indy slung the machine gun to his left shoulder and, after a quick glance around to see that no one was coming out of the main building, Indy made his own way over toward the long one. He met Aroa at the door.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She nodded, frightened but determined.

Indy took a few steps back, drew a deep breath, then bellowed, "HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE THEIF!"

Aroa reached up and began rattling the doorknob, as though she was trying to get into the building in a hurry.

Two tense seconds later, the door burst open where one of Raynard's men, an American, stood just inside, pulling on his shirt.

"What is it?" he asked, confused.

"She stole something of mine!" Indy pointed an accusatory finger at Aroa.

The man glowered down at the girl. Aroa screamed but it wasn't in fright of him. She pointed frantically at the main building. Indy glanced over quickly to see a sleepy, bewildered Raynard accompanied by Ding emerging from the front door. In an instant, Indy's hand snatched the whip from his side and thrust it out before him. The other end sizzled through the air and lashed itself around the neck of the man at the door of the long building. Indy gave a hard yank, causing the man to stumble toward him. As Indy reached out to catch him with his right arm, his left brought the Austen submachine gun around. In one motion, Indy threw his right hand around the man's neck, holding him in a deadly embrace and keeping him between Indy and Raynard. The machine gun came up and Indy unleashed a torrent of bullets in Raynard's direction, sending the other two men scrambling for cover.

Meanwhile, Aroa slipped into the long building and began shouting something at the top of her lungs.

Indy dimly remembered her telling him there was one more of Raynard's men in the long building besides the one he was currently holding hostage. Then Indy caught a flash of something bright in the corner of his eye. Raynard had turned and was scrambling to get back inside the main building; Indy saw it strapped to his belt.

_The dagger!_

There was no mistaking it. The blade was tucked inside the belt, while the dagger itself was held up by the bone handle.

All of this, of course, happened in the space of just a few seconds. Indy swung the gun toward Ding, who was just ducking around the corner, when the clip ran out. Without hesitating, Indy stepped back and swung the butt of the machine gun across the back of his captive's skull, knocking him unconscious. Before the swing of the gun was complete, Indy had his revolver in his right hand and fired a few thundering shots at the retreating Ding. Both men managed to escape; Ding around the corner, and Raynard back into the building.

A commotion from the long building attracted his attention and Indy remembered the other man who was supposed to be inside. Holstering the revolver, he retrieved the whip and once more coiled it as his side while making his way to the door of the long building. There were shouts and screams coming from inside. Deciding the women had been through enough, Indy charged through the door, re-drawing the revolver as he ran. It was dim inside, one weak bulb hung from the center of the ceiling. Rows of bunk beds lined both walls, while three single beds were arranged near the door. This was where three of the men slept in order to keep an eye on the women.

Indy hurriedly surveyed the situation, then relaxed, holstered his gun, and grinned a lopsided grin.

Aroa had gone into the building shouting that the strange man had come to rescue them all, and that he needed some assistance. The women went after the remaining man with every sharp cooking utensil they could get ahold of, as well as some that weren't so sharp. Every ounce of anger, every bit of fury at what they had endured at the hands of Raynard's men had fueled their willingness – their enthusiasm – to bring down one of them. He didn't last long.

"Can you find your way back to your village?" Indy asked Aroa.

"Yes!" She responded firmly, "Please, what is your name?"

"Indiana." He responded with a grin.

Aroa and several of the other women attempted to say it but couldn't.

"Were you sent by the gods?" Aroa asked seriously.

Indy shook his head, "I am just a man."

One of the older women shook her head emphatically, "You are not like other men. But if you are not of the gods, perhaps you are one who comes from somewhere between heaven and earth. You will forever be known to our village as 'One who walks the skies.'"

"Skywalker, huh? I kinda like it." Indy said in English, then addressed them in their language, "Stay in here until I tell you to leave. I will make sure the men do not follow you. When you return to your village, do not go by the road. Find your way through the jungle."

Indy crept to the door and opened it just a crack. His former hostage was still on the ground, but he could see no one else. Then, an engine sputtered and roared to life. Indy threw open the door in time to see Raynard in the cab of the other truck. He drew his revolver again and fired his remaining shots at the truck but only succeeded in breaking the windshield.

In an instant, Indy knew what was up. Raynard had ordered Ding and the other remaining man to keep Indy occupied while he made his way to the plane with whatever processed opium they had in the truck. The only way Ding would have agreed is if Raynard promised to return with a larger share of the profits, or some similar token. But Indy knew Raynard, because he'd known a hundred men like him. Raynard had no intention of returning, and if he made it to the plane, the dagger would be lost forever.

Indy sprinted across the compound as the truck turned and made its way down the road. Shouts erupted from the main building, followed by gunfire. He dove behind the first jeep, then climbed up into the back of the second, making a few adjustments to this or that as bullets hissed through the air over head or ricocheted off the metallic surface of the jeep. As soon as he was ready, Indy stood up, swung the mounted machine gun around and pulled the trigger.

Thunder and fire spewed from the nozzle of the weapon as hundreds of bullets pounded into the side of the main building, opening huge, gaping holes in the tin wall. Whoever had been firing at Indy from the front door was unable to get back inside in time and took several rounds before collapsing.

With Raynard on his way down the hill in his truck, and the unconscious man still lying near the main building, that left Ding as the only remaining conscious man at the compound.

"AROA!" Indy bellowed, "GO NOW!"

He didn't need to say it twice. The women began pouring out of the long building and making their way along the wall to the near end, then around the corner and down the slope, heading in a direction that was decidedly away from the road.

Meanwhile, Indy, keeping a sharp eye on the main building, grabbed two fuel cans from his truck, opened them and tossed them into the other jeep. Then he reached in , pushed the starter button, and shoved the jeep into reverse. He climbed back up onto the mounted gun and continued firing as the other jeep rolled steadily across the open space and crashed into the wall of the main building. Indy then turned the gun on the other vehicle.

It only took about four shots to generate a spark, and within a second, a behemoth explosion blew the main building apart in a massive, orange ball of flame.

Indiana dove for cover, then jumped into the cab of his truck, cranking the engine to life. He backed the truck up half a length, jammed it into first gear, and kicked up dirt and gravel as his rear tires spun. He reloaded his revolver as he drove.

When he entered the road, Indy was just in time to see Raynard's truck making the turn at the far end of the first long switchback. Indy floored the accelerator, shoving it through the upper gears into the highest one, and still he kept the pedal all the way to the floor.

Steering wasn't much of a problem, as the deep grooves in the road kept the wheels going in the direction they needed to. Several minutes later, Indy stomped on the brake just before he got to the hairpin turn and the back end of the huge transport truck slid around to the right, through the turn, just barely staying on the road. Indy shoved it back into first gear and floored it once more. He could tell he'd closed a good chunk of the distance between himself and Raynard.

Just before Indy reached the second hairpin turn, he heard a loud staccato rattling accompanied by noises, hisses and a whistle or two. The passenger side rearview mirror shattered. Indy looked in the center rearview mirror, then cranked his head around.

Behind him was the jeep with the mounted gun, and it was firing at him.

The man whom Indy had knocked unconscious was behind the wheel. Ding was manning the gun.

Indy hit the brakes and slid the back end of the truck around to the left, just barely managing to stay on the road. Ding continued to fire but soon found the angle too awkward for the weapon to work properly and thus had to wait until they made it to the hairpin turn.

Indy was only two truck lengths behind Raynard now.

He worked the truck through the gears once more, keeping the accelerator pressed all the way down.

The rear window shattered. Ding had made it to the turn and was now only a couple of hundred feet behind him. Bullets sizzled through the air, impacted with the truck, blew out one rear tire. Indy decided to slow down just a little so he could-

The brakes were out.

Whatever stress he'd put them through by stomping on them through the last two turns had taken its toll. The brake pedal uselessly went all the way to the floor and stayed there. Indy reached over and shoved the passenger seat forward. It tilted up on hinges mounted to the front end of the seat. Indy glanced down quickly and, seeing what he wanted, reached over and grabbed the lug wrench that was stashed there. Without hesitating, he wedged it between the front seat and the accelerator, pinning the gas pedal to the floor. Then he took his revolver, shot three holes in the front window, and raised his foot, kicking out the windshield.

Indy quickly fired two shots at the jeep behind him, then dove out where the windshield had been and onto the hood of the truck. Shakily getting to his feet, Indy took two steps, launched himself off the front end of the truck, sailed through the air, and landed tumbling in the back of Raynard's truck.

He scrambled over several wooden crates and made his way to the cab, used the butt of the revolver to smash out the glass and reached through, putting the gun to Raynard's temple.

"Who are you?" Raynard screamed.

"I told you!" Indy bellowed back, "I'm an archeologist! And this-"

(He reached through and snatched the dagger from Raynard's belt)

"-belongs in a museum!"

They were approaching the end of the long switchback. Suddenly there was a jarring crash as Indy's truck slammed into the back of Raynard's; still there thanks to the deep grooves in the road. Indy was sent tumbling backward. He got to his knees and put the dagger in his satchel.

Raynard instinctively hit the brakes, and Indy realized there wasn't enough room for Raynard to get out ahead of the truck behind and make the turn. He got up, made his way to the back of Raynard's vehicle and leaped back to the hood of his own. Indy flattened against the hood and shoved himself headfirst into the cab, yanking the lug wrench up and out. The truck immediately began to slow down a little, thanks to the transmission.

Barely any time left, they were almost out of road.

Indy scrambled through the cab and into the back of his own truck. Drawing his revolver, he carefully took aim and fired his last shot. The driver of the jeep was rocked violently backward, then slumped over the wheel. Ding forgot about the machine gun and immediately tried to remove the man from the driver's seat.

Grabbing the canvas above his head, Indy pulled with all his strength, applying his entire weight to it. He fell to the floor as the huge canvas cover came loose in his hands. Snatching up the corners of the canvas, he bunched them in his fist, and then wrapped the slender end of the whip around the corners like a cowboy roping a calves' feet together.

At the very second he was finished tying, there was another jarring crash as Raynard slowed down for the hairpin turn and Indy's truck once more thundered into the rear of the other vehicle. The opium farmer and former military officer screamed as he stomped down on the brakes with both his feet and turned the wheel as hard as he could, but to no avail. His truck was shoved forward off the end of the road. Raynard went to his death with many things in his possession; dignity was not among them.

Ding's jeep then slammed into the back of Indy's truck and the two bumpers became entwined together.

Indy's truck lurched sickeningly just as he leaped from the back of it onto the hood of the jeep. Together, his truck and the jeep sailed off the end of the road and out into the air. Indy shoved with his feet, launching himself away from the vehicles, while Ding's own screams filled his ears. He thrust the canvas out away from him and tightened his grip on the handle end of the whip, which was wrapped twice around his right arm. As hoped for, the canvas billowed out as it caught air. Indy let out a yell; his arm was almost yanked out of its socket.

Crude parachute though it was, Indy still continued to descend at a breathtaking speed. Below him, Raynard's truck plummeted into the deep green pool of the river that was fed by the waterfall. A second later, Indy's truck and the jeep came smashing down on top of it. The last two vehicles tumbled over and settled into the pool, the back of Indy's truck sticking partially above the surface, was turned on its side.

As was often the case for Indiana Jones, luck was with him. Had he landed on solid ground, his legs would have shattered, but he plunged into the pool not too far from the wreckage. When he surfaced, spluttering and coughing, he was just in time to see his hat as it wafted slowly through the air and settled on the far bank of the river. He swam over to the bank, hauled himself out of the water, coiled the whip and clipped it to his belt, then stooped over and retrieved his hat, replacing it firmly on his head.

Indy stood at the edge of the river and gazed at the wreckage, then around the banks of the wide pool. Ding floated by face down. There was no sign of Raynard at all.

Indiana Jones had cheated the Grim Reaper once more.

He made his way down river to the bridge, then followed the road back out to Tangarare.

Three days later, Indy emerged from the jungle at the U.S. military base on the north side of Guadalcanal, having been guided unerringly across the island by a grateful villager whose sister's life was among those Indy had saved.

Sergeant Fuller was arrested immediately after Indy told his tale to the base commander.

* * *

"…Fuller had been supplying Raynard with equipment from time to time, and Raynard paid him to keep quiet about it, and their little operation. The commander had the base physician and a nurse drive down to Tangarare to make sure the women made it back OK. They did. Then he got the governor's permission to send a squadron of bombers to destroy Raynard's compound." Indiana said with a warm, almost nostalgic smile, "I had Cook's Dagger shipped to my friend Marcus Brody at the museum. From what I understand, it's still there today, sitting in a display case next to the Cross of Coronado. I acquired that piece for the museum too, I'll have to tell you that story some time."

It was dark outside. Ron had come back and was able to pick up the missing details of the story as he listened. Veronica was awake, but still upstairs, playing with Rufus.

There was silence for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry , Dr. Jones." Kim said, a little frustrated. She'd expected to hear about her Nana long before now, "But what does this have to do with my grandmother?"

"Now, I'm getting to that, you see?" Indy sounded a little snippy. He'd missed his nap that afternoon, "I stayed a for a couple of days at the base on Guadalcanal. The Army Air Corps sent a transport plane to pick me up. I thought I was bound for San Francisco, but instead I was taken to the island of Guam…"

* * *

Indy was roused from his sleep by a slight jarring motion made by the plane as it landed. He was surprised; either he'd slept longer than he thought, or they landed sooner than he expected. As it turned out, the latter case was true.

Indy peered out the window and saw palm trees and ocean beyond. They were still somewhere out in the Pacific ocean, on a very small island. When the plane came to a halt, Jones got up and walked toward the cockpit. He hadn't seen the pilot for the entire trip. But whoever he was, Indy certainly was going to see him now. He wanted answers.

The door to the cockpit opened.

"Hey!" Indy said in a loud, annoyed tone, "This isn't San Francisco! Where are w-"

From the cockpit stepped one of the most beautiful women Indy had ever laid eyes on. She was tall, had soft brown hair that would have fallen almost to her waist if she didn't have it pulled up, with stunning green eyes, and full, almost poutish lips.

"I'm sorry…" Indy almost stammered, "I thought you were the pilot. Could I please talk to-?"

"I _am_ the pilot, Dr. Jones, and no, you aren't in San Francisco. You're on the island of Guam. There is someone just outside who would like to speak with you." Her face was a mask of stubborn annoyance, which wrinkled the bridge of her nose a little and enhanced her beauty.

"OK," Indy said slowly, "Would you mind telling me how you know my name? I don't think I've ever met you."

"No, you haven't, Dr. Jones." She said sternly, "I am Lieutenant Marion Johnson of Army Intelligence. I was sent to pick you up at Guadalcanal."

"All tight, Marion, then can you tell m-"

"Excuse me." She cut him off, "But you can address me as either Lieutenant, or Lieutenant Johnson. Is that understood, Dr. Jones?"

Indy's eyes narrowed. Beautiful though she was, he decided he didn't like her much.

"Fine, _Lieutenant,_" He spat out the word, "Mind telling me what I'm doing here?"

"As I said," She repeated, "Someone outside needs to speak with you."

Indy shot her an annoyed glare and made his way to the exit. It was getting on in to early evening; they'd left Guadalcanal that morning. Indy kept his eyes on the stairs as he descended them. But as soon as he stepped on to the tarmac, he looked up and into the face of a man he disliked very much.

"YOU!" He bellowed and strode toward the man, his fists clenching.

His name was Major Eaton, and Indy had dealt with him before…

* * *

Marshall College, 1936

"Yes, Dr. Jones, we've heard a great deal about you." Major Eaton of army intelligence said by way of introduction.

"Have you?" Indy ascended several stairs to a small stage and set his things down on the nearby table.

"A professor of archeology," Eaton continued, "Expert on the occult, and… how does one say it… obtainer of rare antiquities."

"That's one way of saying it." Indiana replied, "Why don't you sit down, you'll be more comfortable."

"Now, you studied under professor Ravenwood at the University of Chicago." Eaton stated plainly.

"Yes, I did." Indy glanced over at his friend Marcus.

Eaton pressed him, "And you have no idea of his whereabouts?"

"Uh… just rumors, really, somewhere in Asia, I think…."

* * *

Washington D.C., 1936

"You've done your country a great service, and we thank you."

"And," Eaton tugged on his pipe and glanced up at Marcus, "We trust you found the settlement satisfactory?"

"The money's fine," Indy said curtly, "The situation is totally unacceptable."

"Well, gentlemen," Eaton ignored him, "I guess that just about wraps it up."

"Where is the Ark?" Marcus asked emphatically.

Eaton stared at him for a second, "I thought we'd settled that. The Ark is somewhere very safe."

"From whom?" Indy asked.

"The Ark is a source of unspeakable power," Marcus interjected, "And it has to be researched!"

"And it will be, I assure you Dr. Brody, Dr. Jones," Eaton said as soothingly as he could, "We have top men working on it right now."

"Who?" Indy demanded.

Eaton turned and glared at him.

"Top. Men."

* * *

Eaton took an involuntary step backward as Indy came at him.

"Who do you think you are, bringing me here?" Indy demanded, "You son of a-"

Indy felt a hand on his shoulder, attempting to prevent him from taking another step. Indy's head swiveled to see the pilot, a look of determination on her face.

"Let go of me, lady," Indy shrugged off her hand, "This is between me and the-"

Indy felt his right arm lurch upward as it was grabbed by the wrist and bent toward him, then another hand came up under his elbow and continued pushing the arm up and back with surprising strength. Indy was compelled to step back a couple of paces or his arm would be dislocated. The pilot continued to push his arm up and back with considerable force. Then she stepped into him as she came around. He had no choice but to fall, sprawling backward onto the tarmac.

She stood over him, her fists clenched.

"Dr. Jones" Eaton smirked as he came to stand over Indy, who blinked up at both of them in confusion, "Your government needs your services once again. Oh, and this lovely young lady is Lieutenant Marion Zimmer Johnson. You'll be working with her."


	3. Remembrance

Author gets jiggy with it: Alright, well it's been one crazy month since I last updated, and I certainly didn't mean to go this long between chapters. The updates will come more often from here on out. No, really. To make up for lack of updates, I packed this chapter with extra lengthy goodness (sorry, I don't write for the short attention spanned).

If you haven't yet, feel free to check out the collaborative project I'm involved with called the GWA, specifically our story entitled: 'The Darkness Within' (it's under my fave authors and fave stories). Yours Truly wrote the latest chapter, with WesUAH now batting on the current chapter and CaptainKodak1 in the on-deck circle (that means he's up after Wes). Anyway, I think it's a pretty solid story with a nice variety of writing styles in the mix.

Thanks to: Everyone who's reading, especially meh beta reader who confirmed my suspicions that the original draft of this chapter was a steaming pile of word poo.

Gracias Especial to: swiglo3000, MajinMewtwo, Pwn Mster Paladin, Lydia King, Zaratan, JPMod, Ezbok58a, qtpie235, AceIanCombat, mrhappybomb, Pseudojuliet, Mattb3671, Dixon-san (twice), TheOddLittleTurtle (also twice), Manchester Black, Augusta, Qracer23, Triaxx2 (again twice), puppyface and GAP.

Cyber monkey will own your soul…

* * *

Chapter 3. Remembrance

* * *

"Doctor Jones? Are you all right?" 

"I…yes it's just that… I'm sorry, but is that what I think it is?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"There, James, on the end of the mantle. The ornament."

"Oh yes, this is just our collection of Santas… I guess we should have taken down the Christmas stuff by now, there's Elvis Santa, Motorcycle Santa, Surfin' Santa, Bobble-Head Santa-"

"The one on the end, son, that one."

"This one? Oh right, this is the one Mom gave us, it's Kim's favorite."

"I think that's the one we picked out together, Christmas of '46."

"Huh? Nana used to tell me: 'your grandfather and I got that on our very first Christmas.' She was talking about you?"

"I suppose she was… I'm sorry but would anyone mind if I removed my eye patch? If I leave it on too long I get headaches."

"Kim, it really is late, maybe we should let Doctor Jones get some rest and get Ronnie-Anne home."

"No, Ron, I want to… You're right, I'm sorry, Dr. Jones it's just that…"

"I understand, though I'm afraid I am very tired and I have a flight back to Florida tomorrow. But I want you to have this, it will tell you a few things you might want to know."

"Thank you… may I ask what it is?

"It's your grandmother's journal. You'll want to read every page, including the official U.S. Army Telegram. Start by reading that."

* * *

_November 11, 1944_

_To: Mrs. Marion Zimmer Johnson_

_From: United States Department of Armed Forces_

_My Dear Mrs. Johnson,_

_We deeply regret to inform you that your husband, Private First Class James Timothy Johnson, was killed in action near the city of Arnhem in the Netherlands, on September 22, 1944. It is my understanding that your husband gave his life with distinction, bravery and honor in the service of the United States of America. His actions contributed much in the struggle against the forces of tyranny on the European continent. His life given shall not have been lost in vain._

_May God keep you and comfort you in your time of grief._

_Yours in remembrance,_

_General Foster Hadley_

_Department of the United States Armed Forces_

_•••_

_Dear Roadrunner,_

_I know you made me promise I would come home, but I think this is the one time when I won't be able to keep my word. Me and the other fellas have been trying to take a bridge near this big town, and the Krauts have been putting up a pretty big fight about it. _

_There's a whole bunch of stuff I wanted to tell you but I think I may be in heaven before the end of today, so I'll stick to just the important things. Mostly I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know we kinda had to get married because it was the honorable thing to do, and we both wanted Slim to have a daddy growing up. But I don't think that's going to be the case now. So that's why I'm saying I'm sorry. I should have done better by you, I should have made sure you and the baby were better taken care of, but I'm pretty sure you can take care of yourself. I guess I'm saying I'm sorry because you deserve a good man who loves you a lot. Not someone who will leave you with a baby and go off to war. I think that if we could have gotten a little more time together then maybe…_

_•••_

_Dear Mrs. Johnson,_

_My name is James Ingram, I'm a Private in the army, and a real good friend to your husband James. That first part of this letter was told to me and I wrote it down while your husband was still able to talk. Right now the company medic is taking a look at him and he says that James just this minute passed away. I am real sorry to have to tell you that. He wanted to say a few things to you. I guess he must have known his number was up, so he asked me to write down some things because he wasn't in a condition for writing. As you can probably tell, he didn't get to say everything he wanted to. I don't know what all the things were that he wanted to say but I think I can say a few things about him that might help. James and I first met on a beach in Normandy, France about four months ago. We were in different units and in a pretty big fight with the enemy that day, and things kind of got confused. My C.O. started yelling "Jimmy, Jimmy" and we both ran over to him. Well, that's how it all started, and we've been keeping an eye on each other since then. We became friends on account of us having the same first name and all. I got transferred to your husband's unit and have had a lot of good talks with him. He talked about you and your son all the time. I don't think I ever found out your son's real name, he just called him 'Slim', and said that when he was born he was real thin and long for a baby, so the name stuck I guess. I know what it says in the first part of this letter, but I think he really loved you a lot. All he would ever talk about was his 'Roadrunner' and how you were this important person in the Army, but that he couldn't talk about what it is that you do because it's a secret; how you had all these special abilities and skills and could even fight with the strongest of men. He always sounded very proud when he talked about you and your baby boy. He was a good man, your husband, and he saved my life a couple of times… I only regret that I wasn't able to save his. I hope one day I will have a family and be proud of them the way my friend Jim Johnson was of you._

_Sincerely,_

_James E. Ingram_

* * *

She was in a hotel in San Francisco when she got the telegram along with the letter. Most of the day had been spent attending briefing sessions with some of her superiors at The Presidio. 

She was in training, preparing for her first assignment since having her baby.

Lt. Marion Zimmer Johnson was a special operative for U.S. Army Intelligence. She was a weapon in the vast arsenal of the United States Military. She had been trained extensively in all sorts of skills; with the Army Air Corps as a pilot, with the Navy as a demolitions expert, including a specialty in underwater demolitions (in fact, she was the first woman to ever complete the training program). She knew fifteen different languages and was able to learn a new one in a relatively short time if need be. She had knowledge about the growing field of electronics, such as radar systems and microwave communications systems. She was an expert in most small arms operations, and had even trained on some larger weapons such as howitzers, tanks and anti-aircraft.

And she was also an expert in hand-to-hand combat. As a teenager, she trained in China with a group of Shao Lin monks in the art of Pang Lan Xuan Kung Fu, an ancient style of martial art that is both brutal and efficient.

She was born simply Marion Zimmer – no middle name – and had been an orphan since the age of three; her parents were killed in an automobile accident. Since she had no living grandparents, she was sent to live with her great Aunt Miriam in the small town of Middleton.

Miriam was an older woman, and not a very happy one. Early in her life she had made a name for herself as a female reporter; a rarity in that particular occupation in the late 19'th/early 20'th century. Borrowing a page from the great Nelly Bly, Miriam used a pseudonym as her byline; Mim Possible. Her career probably would have been as illustrious as Bly's had she not become entangled in a scandal at the Middleton World's Fair. She was wrongly accused of stealing a device called the Electrostatic Illuminator from famed inventor Professor Demends. Unable to clear her name, despite the tireless efforts of her close friend and constable, Johnathan Stoppable, Miriam was forced to retire in disgrace. She spent the remainder of her days as a ghost writer for less talented novelists and reporters and dreamed of her glory years until eventually she became a bitter, elderly spinster. There were always rumors that Johnathan Stoppable was not only her friend, but very much in love with her. But they were always just rumors and nothing more.

Marion was a bit of a wild child growing up and her great aunt was too old to properly supervise her; she often got into trouble sneaking out of the house at night or starting fights with boys at school (and winning most of them). So, at the advice of Constable Stoppable, Marion was sent to a special military training academy on the west coast.

Initially, Marion was resentful at this particular turn of events in her life, but someone at that academy saw something in her and worked to channel her wild and adventurous spirit into more healthy outlets. Soon it became well known that she had many talents, as well as a great deal of intelligence.

When Marion was fifteen, her great aunt died, and she was left alone in the world. But she was also well taken care of. Mim had left her a house in Middleton and a comfortable amount of money to at least support her through the end of her academy years.

One day, several visitors showed up at the school to observe her in various environments; the classroom, the playing field, the obstacle course. They recommended her for a top secret Army operation called 'The Talon Initiative'; a program wherein the Army would train a select few individuals in all sorts of specialties to prepare them for work as agents in the Army's Intelligence division.

Marion's personality, spirit and intelligence fit the bill perfectly, and she took to the training with enthusiasm. In fact, she quickly rose through the ranks in her class of initiates and was selected as the first student so spend a year in China training with the Shao Lin Monks. Even there, she impressed her instructors, though they never visibly demonstrated their amazement. She became very proficient in Pang Lan Xuan which, considering she managed to gain the basic skills in just twelve months, was no small accomplishment. This particular style of martial arts involves not only the mastery of specific techniques in attack and defense, it also involves a very rigorous discipline of one's self, and the control of one's surrounding environment.

Very few have actually become true masters of Pang Lan Xuan (and Zim, though close, was not one of them); those that have are able to manipulate their very environment, using even the smallest of objects as weapons and virtually able to defy gravity. Often when executing a maneuver, a master of PLX will seem to float through the air, is able to appear as though running up walls, and otherwise defy the laws of physics. Though this is not actually what is happening, it is a discipline of such rigorous mental strength, and such precise maneuverability, that anyone watching a PLX master would almost think they could fly, or at least float.

Marion was well on her way to achieving 'master' status when her Government called her into active duty in July of 1938. She was tasked with retrieving some very important documents from the U.S. Consulate in Peking. An incident had forced the U.S. diplomats to evacuate the embassy, but much was left behind, including sensitive material.

She was able to get in, complete her mission, and get to the rendezvous with her contact all without anyone knowing she had ever been there. And though word of her mission never made it into the venue of public news, her superiors were very impressed. Marion was given several medals in a secret ceremony at the Presidio in San Francisco. Initially she was due to return to China to continue with another year with the monks, but she had proven herself too valuable to Army Intelligence to be sent back to a mere training facility.

Marion Zimmer became the first fully active agent in the Army's Talon Initiative operation.

With her medals, she soon gained a new name. Her superiors had begun referring to her by her last name as is the habit in the military in slightly-less-than-formal circumstances. After several subsequent successful operations, they took to calling her 'Zim' as a sign of affection. Soon thereafter, she earned a reputation as an agent that could be summed up in one sentence, which became almost a motto among those in the Talon Initiative:

"If it's impossible, it's Zim possible."

This meant that the more difficult the mission was, the more likely she would be called on to conduct it. She always giggled when she heard someone say that particular phrase, it made her sound like she had taken the pseudonym of her late great-aunt. And there was something about it that reminded her she once had a family, and that – despite her headstrong ways and fiercely independent nature – she would one day want a family of her own.

As to that, she certainly didn't lack the prospects. Most of the men who worked with her would inevitably come to be smitten by her. This was not just because she was so incredibly beautiful, but she was also quite personable; friendly with everyone, never made enemies or even made anyone angry. Her intelligence never got in the way of her personality; she never made anyone feel as though they weren't as smart as her, despite the fact this was the case nine times out of ten.

Zim soon grew accustomed to constant invitations to dinner and picnics, drives up the coast, or rowing excursions in Golden Gate Park. She turned them all down. She loved her work too much to compromise it by engaging in a relationship with someone else in the Initiative, or even someone else stationed at the base. Zim was entirely about her status as an Army Intelligence agent, and she had earned the respect and admiration of all who worked with her. While outside the boundaries of the base, men tended to dominate the workforce as well as the military, inside was another matter altogether. Inside there was no time to be wasted on chivalry or chauvinism, gallantry or repression, 'old fashioned values' or 'progressive mores'. Those were luxuries that were left for the citizenry to resolve and engage in. Army Intelligence, and specifically the Talon Initiative, were about the business of protecting the United States; its citizens, its borders and its interests, in that order. Zim was an agent first, and a woman second. She was treated with respect by her superiors, and saluted by her subordinates. She was either 'Zim', Agent Zimmer, or Lieutenant Johnson.

And if the mission was impossible, then it was Zim possible.

* * *

In October of 1943, as the war raged in both Europe and the Pacific, Zim was ordered to take three month's leave of absence so she could take some time off from her work. She didn't necessarily believe she needed a vacation, but her superiors finally required her to take some 'R and R'. Five years of covert work without any real leave time was making a few people in Intelligence a bit nervous. 

Having no idea where she should go, she decided to stay the entire time in Middleton, in her great aunt's house; a huge Victorian style building that sat at the top of a hill overlooking the small town. In fact, it had such a commanding view, that on clear evenings, one could see the lights of Upperton on the north end of the valley.

She spent a few days cleaning the house, not really sure what else she should be doing, and then when she had finished that, she began attending movies at the Bijou Theater downtown. She did it mostly just to have something to get her out of the house. For the first couple of weeks, she wouldn't leave, content to clean during the day and read her aunt's books in the evenings. But eventually she came to crave human contact, even if it was tertiary. In other words, she was beginning to develop cabin fever.

So she would go to the cinema and watch the full array of programs they had; cartoons, followed by a newsreel, and then two full length films with an intermission in between. A small part of her was actually enjoying her vacation. After five years of almost non-stop excitement, especially once the war began, she was glad in a way to walk downtown, look in the windows of the departments store, or watch the trolley cars rumble up and down main street. When it came to middle American towns of the 1940's, Middleton was practically a post card view of it.

One night at the Bijou, during the cartoon reel just before the news footage was slated to run, a young man in uniform excused his way past her and sat several seats away.

"Pssst."

She knew he was hissing at her but ignored him.

"Psst, Maam!"

Zim supposed he called her that because was wearing her dress uniform.

"What is it?" She hissed back.

"Did they show a Roadrunner cartoon earlier?"

"I believe they did," she shot back, annoyed.

"Did he catch it?"

"What?"

"The Coyote, did he catch the Roadrunner?"

"No. Now will you please be quiet?" She whispered savagely. A few people in the immediate area threw them annoyed glances.

The newsreel began to roll. The top stories were all about the war in the Pacific, followed by events in Europe. After which came a few comedic and human interest stories, most of which were intended to boost morale and solidify the war effort; 'little Johnny in Texas is growing a Victory Garden', 'Granny Mabel in North Carolina is collecting scrap metal and old newspapers', things of that nature.

"You know, if he really wanted to, he could."

She didn't want to acknowledge the statement, but she couldn't help herself, "What?"

"The Coyote; if he really wanted to catch the Roadrunner, he could."

"Of course he could, but he relies on those outlandish gadgets!" Zim could not believe she was actually having the conversation.

"No, see, that's where you're wrong." He got up and moved to the seat right next to hers, "I once got a pair of those roller skates with the rockets on them, only I ordered them from Sears and Roebuck. I learned a long time ago that anything you get from Acme isn't worth the material it's made of."

The giggle escaped her before she could help it, "You bought skates with rockets on them? Did you catch anything?"

"I caught all sorts of swell stuff. No Roadrunners though, but once I caught the front end of a Trolley Car that was coming the other way."

Zim let out a full guffaw which was met by a chorus of hisses from the immediate area.

"Would you like to go get a cup of coffee?" he whispered, "I've seen this movie twice now, and I'm sorry, but I just can't buy the idea that ghosts would actually volunteer for the war effort."

"Really?" Zim surprised herself by sounding genuinely curious about his views, "I think it's sweet that the guy who got shot down would come back and help out that young man, even when that young man is interested in the dead man's girl."

"So you've seen it, too." The man looked as though he'd just cornered his prey, "Maybe we should talk about it over coffee."

"Maybe you should," an older woman behind them encouraged in a less-than-kind tone.

Zim giggled again and got up, whispering, "There's a lunch counter that's open late over at Rockwaller's Department Store."

The man gestured toward the exit, "Lead the way… Roadrunner."

And it went from there.

They saw each other a couple of times a week. James Timothy Johnson was eighteen years old, just out of high school and fresh from Basic Training. The Army had given him leave to come home to Middleton to wait for his orders to ship out.

Zim was twenty two by this time, and spending just a few days with James made her aware of the lack of close relationships she had in her life. She realized that as much as she was content to be alone in the world, she did like the companionship of someone who was interested in her. There was a relaxed intensity about him that she found intriguing. He was confident and focused, but he was also sincere. He took to calling her 'Roadrunner' because he recognized her elusive qualities, as well as the desire in his own pursuit of her. She was not easily caught, and he liked that.

They went to the theater together whenever a new picture announcement went up on the marquis. Sometimes they would have a picnic in Middleton Park, or they would walk together down where the new High School was being built, and James would share with her his dreams of getting a teaching degree and settling down in Middleton, raising a family.

But it was at this point that Zim emotionally parted company with James. While she enjoyed his companionship, she didn't share his goals. She relished too much the adventure and possibilities that her work as an Intelligence Agent brought her. She didn't just get to see the world, she saw parts of it that few others would ever be allowed to see. She was an integral cog in the machine that protected the ideals of Freedom and Democracy.

Settling down was the furthest thing from her mind.

But she enjoyed his company, and was always forthright with him about her feelings. She never once said she loved him, but that – truthfully – she was very fond of him. Whenever they had talks about any possible feelings for each other, James would always just smile, shake his head and say "That's my Roadrunner". Zim knew he was simply biding his time, and that somewhere deep down he hoped she would come around. She knew deep within herself that she never would, and something about this made her feel sad for him a little. She wanted to tell him he was wasting his time, to go and find someone else who really would be able to fall in love with him.

But she never said anything. She just couldn't bring herself to break his heart right before he shipped off to war. She was hoping that once he was called up, he'd eventually forget all about her and wind up with someone special of his own.

But it didn't happen that way.

One evening outside the theater, James came striding up with determined, purposeful steps and took her hand, pulling her out of line.

"Two weeks," he said quietly, "They're shipping me out in two weeks?"

"What? But usually notifications don't arrive until the day before."

"I know," he answered hurriedly, "An old high school chum works at the Quartermaster's office. He saw my name on a roster and sent me a telegram. Europe. I'm being sent to Europe."

"Do you know where?"

"Southern England for the time being. My buddy says a lot of troops are being shipped there in the next few months, he thinks something big is coming… What?" He noticed a rather annoyed look on her face.

"Your friend is sending military secrets by wire," she said almost angrily, "That information could get to the wrong people."

"OK, OK, but… can we go talk somewhere?"

"I think Rockwaller's is closed."

"We'll go get a booth at Barkin's Diner."

"Oh," She made a sour face, "I don't like it there. The old guy that owns the place likes to yell at his employees all the time. Makes for a less than pleasant dining experience."

"Oh that's just how he is. My dad says he used to be the chief of police in Middleton, and that he would yell at everybody in those days. I just want to go somewhere and talk."

"Well, then how about my house," She offered.

"Your house, at this time of the evening?" He practically smirked, "What will people say?"

That got her, "Oh who cares what people say. Come on, I'll make you dinner."

It was probably the worst meal James Johnson ever had to endure.

She hadn't cooked for him before; she hadn't really cooked for anyone. He choked it all down as best he could, but the tears threatened to come during dessert when she served him a cake she had baked the day before (his birthday was coming up) and had used salt everywhere the recipe called for sugar, figuring they must be the same thing because they looked the same after all.

The horrible food didn't make his goal for the evening any easier, but he was no less in earnest.

"Zim, I think we should get married."

She sat on the other side of the table, a smudge of some kind of unknown but presumably edible substance on her cheek. Her hair was a little matted from accidentally running her hand through it before wiping off whatever food she had been preparing. And it looked like she'd managed to get some of the sauce (she thought cranberry sauce would taste fine on a meatloaf… at least, James hoped that was meat; most of it seemed to be egg and bread) on her blouse.

And still he thought she never looked so beautiful.

She smiled warmly at him, but with a little sorrow in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, James," she said as sympathetically as she could, "I think you're a good man, and any woman would be lucky to have you. But I love my work too much to leave it now."

"I think I would be a good provider," he said defiantly.

"Of course you would, but it's not about that." She replied softly, "Truthfully, James, if I put my work ahead of you, doesn't that tell you something? Don't you want a girl who will love you just as much as you love her?"

"But you _could_ love me like that," he persisted.

"James, we can't bet our whole future together on '_could_'."

She got up, came around the table and gently lowered herself onto his lap, "You'll be shipping out soon. Let's not end it like this. What we had together was wonderful, but I don't want you to go off to war hurt and upset."

She kissed him.

"We still have two weeks," she cooed softly.

He kissed her back.

"I would like those two weeks to be full of pleasant memories," she whispered.

Kissing him was all she intended to do. But she allowed her pity to take over and then allowed James into her bed. She couldn't say 'no' to him again, not after the heartbreak that played across his face earlier in the evening, she just didn't want to put him through more of that by limiting his affection.

Zim wasn't trained much in the norms of 1940's era American morality. Despite the fact that this was her first experience, and his as well, she'd been so sheltered through her teenage years, concentrating on almost nothing but her training, that it didn't seem as great an occurrence to her as it apparently was to him. At least he seemed happy when he went home the next morning; politely but firmly refusing the breakfast she offered to cook for him.

They spent more time together, and shared more intimacy. Indeed, it seemed all James wanted to do any more was stay at her house. Zim was willing enough, and for her part she enjoyed their trysts to a small degree.

She began throwing up in the mornings midway through the second week.

Ever worried about her health, Zim went straight to the doctor and waited most of the day for the results of a specific test, though the doctor refused to tell her what type of test until he got the results back.

The test was positive, Zim was pregnant.

She was devastated, though James was actually ecstatic. He'd finally snared his Roadrunner.

His parents were quite displeased, and adamant that Zim and James get married immediately to avoid public embarrassment to the Johnson family. In a daze, Zim found herself standing before a Justice of the Peace mumbling 'I do' and within forty-eight hours, stood and watched as James…

..and his parents…

…moved into her great aunt Miriam's house.

It wasn't until the night before James shipped out that the tears flowed, and even then, James thought they were for him. Zim didn't argue with his reasoning, not wanting to hurt his feelings, especially the night before he was to go off to war. But when it occurred to her that this was precisely the type of reasoning that got her into trouble in the first place, she cried that much harder.

Circumstance had turned in a somewhat unhappy direction for Marion Zimmer Johnson. Married to a man she didn't love, living with James' strict, disapproving father and joyless mother, a baby on the way, and to top it all off, her superiors at Talon were less than pleased at what had happened to their highly trained investment.

Mercifully however, the directors at Talon were willing to give her up to a year to give birth and return to the Initiative.

Strangely enough, despite the lack of approval from the Johnsons, they were actually willing to take care of the baby so that Zim could return to Army Intelligence. They would be living in great-aunt Miriam's house, of course, but Zim was almost grateful they didn't try to make her decision to return to work a difficult one. Somehow, especially in the case of Zim's mother-in-law, everyone kind of understood that Zim was not in love with James.

For his part, James Johnson never got to meet his son, and only saw him in one or two photographs.

* * *

So it was in mid November, 1944 that Zim walked into her hotel lobby in San Francisco and checked the front desk for messages. She'd been back at the Talon Initiative for just over a month after saying a hard goodbye to her newborn son. Most of her days were spent in training, getting back into shape for mission work. 

At the hotel, there were two messages; a letter and a telegram.

They hit her like a truckload of bricks.

Zim barely got into her room and collapsed in tears on the floor, just inside the partially open doorway. She cried for her son, alone with his grandparents, who would never get to know his father. She cried for her mother- and father-in-law, because they'd lost a son they loved dearly.

And finally, she cried for her husband; the man who had gone off to war knowing his own wife didn't quite love him as he loved her, dying near some nameless bridge in Northern Europe and telling a man she didn't even know how proud he was of her and their son. He deserved better, and never got it.

She cried for James.

* * *

"'… _and it saddens me, almost shames me to admit that I never really loved James. He was a good man, and too young to have died; nineteen years old and never having met his own son.'" _Kim sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye, "This is the saddest thing I've ever read. What are you thinking about, Ron?" 

Ron Stoppable and his wife were sitting in a cloaked Ninjet near a busy marketplace in Tripoli. Wade had been able to sniff out a few online rumors and clues as to where Locke might be headed next. His best guess was that Locke needed funding for whatever big operation he had planned and a quick way to get funding was either sell something, or sell one's services to a government, supervillain, or terrorist organization.

Locke's name had popped up on some of the less public web sites, on message boards and the like, putting out feelers in order to hire out his services, and specifically his use of the IDOL. Very likely, Lock would pull a major theft operation and split the proceeds with whoever hired him.

The marketplace was little more than a cover environment for nefarious characters to get in personal contact with each other, then loan or hire themselves out to the highest bidder. Libya's government looked the other way for the most part, and to the casual observer, what went on here was a typical Middle Eastern bazaar, with all the trimmings.

"Not much," Ron answered, "Just listening to you and keeping an eye out for that stupid monkey."

At some point in the past, Locke had found out about Ron's childhood phobia of monkeys and cloned a Rhesus Monkey with genetically enhanced intelligence, just for the sake of tormenting Ron. Unwilling to settle for a mere genetic clone, however, Locke had several cybernetic components implanted into the animal so that the result was a rather ghastly looking creature; a cyborg monkey. In essence, it was Locke's version of Rufus, because in truth, Locke rather envied Ron's relationship with his little companion. He even named the thing 'Rufinator'. But then Locke envied a great deal regarding Ron Stoppable's life, so the small animal sidekick was simply one factor in a larger list of issues Locke had with Ronin.

One of the drawback's in Locke's 'design' of the cyber-monkey was that the thing tended to wander, and had all the training and discipline of an average house cat. In other words, it was a fickle and often unruly creature that was more of a liability to Locke than an asset. But as is often the case with an average housecat owner (whose pet demonstrates little affection and much disdain for its master), Locke couldn't bear the thought of either changing the monkey's programming or getting rid of it altogether.

"Speak of the little devil," Ron mused.

Kim looked up in time for the glint of sunlight on metal to catch her eye. A black Rhesus monkey with metallic silver highlights and components protruding from its head and body scampered through the crowd on the edge of the marketplace and made its way to the interior of the bazaar. The truly odd thing was that no one seemed surprised at its presence.

Confirmation that Locke was indeed here and that he came here often.

"You seeing this, Wade?" Ron moved to pull on his mask then hesitated, and instead put a wireless transmitter in his ear. He was wearing his Ronin suit under an outfit of civilian clothes so as not to stand out as much as a blonde-haired Caucasian man already would in such an environment.

"Yeah," Wade's voice came through his earpiece as well as across the view screen of the Ninjet. "I think one of you guys should stay behind as backup in case the other one gets into any trouble."

"Kim'll stay", Ron replied as Kim nodded. Officially, Will Du didn't know she was on this mission. But as a Deep Field Operative for Global Justice, Ron had discretion as to who he could assemble in terms of a mission team, or call in for backup. Unofficially, Du was already regretting his decision to let Stoppable handle this assignment. He wasn't a big fan of Kim's.

"OK, Ron," Wade continued, "Just like we practiced. I'm going to open the door and you just step out very slowly. As soon as you're outside the Ninjet , I'll close the door and gradually de-cloak you once the door's closed all the way. Unless someone's looking right at you, no one should even notice you're there until you start to move."

"Got it," Ron acknowledged. He leaned over and gave his wife a warm, lingering kiss.

"Be careful, sweetie." She whispered.

"Not to worry," Ron winked at her, "I've got great backup. OK, Wade, ready when you are."

To Kim, Ron seemed to shimmer for an instant then fade out of existence. The door of the Ninjet raised very slowly and Kim watched as her husband's form, noticeable only because she was looking directly at it, slid slowly out of the vehicle and raised to a standing position a few feet away. The door slid downward once more. Kim observed as Ron very slowly seemed to materialize into view and stood still for several seconds, trying to see if anyone noticed he was there. Then he casually walked off toward the marketplace in pursuit of the cyber monkey.

She watched him go, said a silent prayer for his safety and then returned to her Nana's journal.

'_The first time I met Indy, we didn't get along very well…'_

* * *

"What did you do that for?" Indy's tone was both annoyed and surprised. 

"You were approaching my superior officer in a threatening manner," Zim said curtly, "I was not sure what your intentions were so I stepped in to defend him."

"Get up, please Doctor Jones, we have a great deal to discuss and not enough time to discuss it." Eaton sniped.

"I believe this is yours," Zim held out Indy's brown fedora to him.

He couldn't for the life of him figure out how she managed to knock him over as well as remove his hat. He took it and got to his feet. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Major." He growled as he dusted himself off.

Eaton turned and shot an annoyed glare at the archeologist. "Actually, it's 'Colonel' these days, and I'm not asking you to come with me, I'm telling you."

"Who do you think you are ordering me around?" Indy demanded, not moving a step.

Zim's fists clenched again, causing Indy to back up a little.

Eaton strode directly up to Indiana and thrust a pudgy finger in his face, "I'm the guy who kept you from being drafted, Dr. Jones, in return for the favor you did for your government ten years ago."

Indy opened his mouth to speak, but Eaton cut him off.

"I'm the guy who could have you arrested and extradited to Madagascar for what you pulled there. Oh yes, we know all about that. I'm the guy who could simply turn you over to the government of Turkey for that little bit of grave robbing you engaged in."

Indy stood and stared, saying nothing.

"I'm also the guy," Eaton's tone became less threatening, "Who can get you access to the Ark if you cooperate."

Indy's eyebrow raised, then his eyes narrowed.

"It's a legitimate offer, Dr. Jones," Eaton guessed what he was thinking, "Complete this mission for us and I will grant you full access to the Ark."

"Unsupervised research?" Indy asked, genuinely interested.

"Of course not." Eaton snapped, "We're not going to leave you alone with it. But we will allow you to study it. In return, we'd expect copies of all your research."

"But why are you doing this? Why now?" Indy wanted to know.

"We need your unique abilities for this current mission. In addition, you're one of only two people who's had close contact with the Ark. We want to know why you and Miss Ravenwood were the only ones left alive on that secret Nazi Submaraine base."

"Why don't you ask her?"

"We did. She was able to tell us a few things, but she doesn't have your expertise. She also doesn't seem to like you very much. In the meantime, we have an assignment for you that is of utmost importance." Eaton coaxed.

"I'm listening," Indy said without moving.

"What do the words 'Tempus Simia' mean to you, Dr. Jones?" Eaton queried.

Indy's eyebrow went back up as he looked at Eaton, then he began to pull what facts he knew from memory, "Two legends that originated from China and Japan spoke of a statue in the shape of a monkey with strange powers. An historian uncovered the legends during his research and gave the item a Latin name for reference purposes to Western Scholars."

"Correct," Eaton confirmed. The three of them began walking toward a nearby building. Indy walked next to Eaton while Zim trailed a few steps behind, eyeing Jones warily. "Anything else?"

"Just vague descriptions of the statue and its supposed abilities," Indy mused, "Apparently it had the power to allow whoever carried it to travel through time."

They had reached the building and Eaton actually held the door open, ushering them into a small work room with several tables and various materials scattered across those tables. Eaton gestured for everyone to take a seat. Indy sat on one side of the table while Zim sat next to Eaton on the other. The Colonel didn't waste any time.

"These are photographs recovered from an archive in Berlin last year," Eaton slid several grainy photographs across the table for Indy to look at. They showed what looked like the body of a monkey carved from stone. It was evident in several of the photos that there was a piece missing, presumably the head.

"You have the statue?" Indy asked, now thoroughly interested. He removed his hat and pulled a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket to examine the photographs.

Though he was quite a bit older than her, Zim couldn't help thinking there was a ruggedly handsome quality about him. As quickly as the thought wafted into her mind, Zim pushed it away forcefully. She'd seen the army file on Doctor Jones. His ethics were questionable, his methods primitive, and she didn't understand how it was possible that he was not rotting in some third world prison somewhere. Handsome or not, she didn't think much of him.

Eaton shook his head, "It was never found. And frankly we didn't think much of it until one of our listening stations intercepted an encoded message."

Eaton slid a piece of paper over to Indy. On it were words in German, as well as a translation of those words in English:

'_Tempus Simia directive is now utmost priority. Search for head piece already underway. Will report any tangible progress on this matter.'_

"Someone got their hands on the main body of the idol." Indy said after reading carefully, "Why is this in German?"

Eaton looked over at Zim, who shoved a few more pieces of paper across to Indy. Her tone was cold, but courteous.

"As you may know, many of those high up in the Third Reich fled to Argentina in the last days of the war. This communication was intercepted from a radio transmission believed to be coming from one of the more desolate areas of that country."

"Nazis?" Indy asked, incredulous, "But why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Eaton took out his pipe and began filling it, "Someone high ranking in the Reich believes the legend of the Tempus Simia is real, and that its power can be utilized."

"But do we know if this body piece even exists?" Indy asked skeptically, "Much less the legends themselves?"

Eaton looked at Indy with cynicism, "I'm surprised at you, Dr. Jones. You are one of only two people alive who saw the Ark of the Covenant opened. Are you willing to stake your future on even the tiniest of doubts?"

"My future?" Indy wasn't following.

"Assuming this Tempus Simia has the abilities described by the legends" Zim explained patiently, "Then it is not outside the realm of possibility that this Nazi remnant group might seek to use it to alter history."

"Think about it, Jones," Eaton fired up his pipe, "They could go into the past and prevent Adolph from taking his own life. Or go into the future and bring back weapons of unimaginable destructive power. You saw what we did to Hiroshima and Nagasaki last year. What great and terrible weapons will we develop in the years to come?"

Jones was stunned at the implication.

"Nazis," Indy said, shaking his head, "I _still_ hate those guys. What do we know about the body piece?"

Zim continued, "We found an informational file with the photos. It documents precisely where the body piece was located and how it was retrieved."

"And?"

"During the Battle of Stalingrad, a German supply team traveling near Leningrad stumbled upon what they described as a 'small temple which seemed to have origins and markings from the Eastern Orient'." Zim explained, "They recovered the body piece and documented some of the writings that were on the wall. But since the markings seemed to be in Chinese, they were unable to fully translate them."

"When the war in Europe became Germany's highest priority, research into this was halted and all resources were dedicated to the German fronts." Eaton contributed, "We're pretty sure they may have translated the writings, but if so, they didn't leave any of the translation in the file."

"Whoever took the body piece from Berlin also took those translations." Indy concluded.

"Correct," Zim confirmed, "Someone believed the potential for the power of the Tempus Simia was real."

"What do the wall markings say?"

"I actually translated these myself." For the first time since their seemingly inauspicious meeting, Zim began to show real emotion. In this case it was an air of modesty lightly sprinkled with pride, "Unfortunately they're fragments. The Germans assumed the writing was from left to right, instead of in columns."

Indy looked at the pieces of paper with the original characters on them and their translations beneath.

'_the sun is at its zenith, bring the head to the' … 'open a hole in the sky, and step in' … 'yesterday to the time of our ancestors'…'travelers from a land beyond the next day'_

"Air." Indy said after he had read the fragments.

"I beg your pardon?" Zim asked.

"You wrote 'open a hole in the sky', the actual inscription here means 'air'. This should read, 'open a hole in the air'." Indy explained patiently.

Zim self-consciously snatched the piece of paper back across the table. She studied it while visibly turning red.

"I would recommend locating this temple near Leningrad and taking a look at the markings on those walls. They could lead to where the head piece is housed." Indy said to Eaton.

"Precisely what we thought," Eaton agreed.

"All right then, two conditions," Indy stated firmly, "Full access to the Ark once I complete this assignment, and I do this alone."

"Out of the question," Zim said a little too loudly.

Indy had had enough. "Listen, sweetheart, I don't know what the Colonel here has told you but I work by myself. You got that? I'm a one man act. I don't sing duets."

"I don't care what you sing," Zim said bitingly, "You are not a Solo act, at least not on this particular venture. This is an operation of the United States Government, and as such, it falls under my jurisdiction. You will be working under my direct, and very strict supervision, Dr. Jones."

Indy opened his mouth to speak then shut it as Zim leaned across the table in an intimidating fashion.

"And I will not repeat myself again," jade fire seemed to erupt in her eyes, "You will either address me as Lieutenant Johnson, or just Lieutenant. If you ever call me 'sweetheart' like that again, I will demonstrate to you ways of feeling pain that you did not think possible."

* * *

Zim, of course, flew the plane. Indy sat uncomfortably in the co-pilot seat for awhile. They were flying in a Grumman G-21 Amphibious aircraft with dry landing capability. Commonly called the "Goose", the plane looked more like a flying boat than an aircraft. 

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Zim was thinking about her son, now three years old and living with her on the island of Guam where she had been stationed shortly after her return to the Initiative. Slim was staying at the house of a married couple while she was away. They had a four year old daughter named Jocelyn who took to Slim the first time she set eyes on him. Zim was relieved that her son had someone to play with and keep him company while she worked. As the boy got older, Zim began to reconsider whether or not it was good for him to be left behind so often.

"You know… I know how to fly," Indy interrupted her thoughts with a half-hearted, lopsided grin. "But I never actually learned how to land."

"You simply descend until you're not in the sky any more," Zim said shortly.

Indy nodded awkwardly. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes.

"Listen," Indy continued, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a map and a stub of red pencil, "Would you mind telling me what our route is? I sort of like to keep track of these things."

"Well, we're flying to Stalingrad where we will be escorted up to Leningrad, so basically we'll be flying west." Zim answered.

"Yes, I understand that," Indy said haltingly, "But what I'm asking is where exactly our fuel stops will be."

He spread the map out in front of him and took a clipboard from the space next to his seat so he could have a solid surface to write on.

"Well," Zim began, "First we'll fly north to the Hawaiian Islands and take on fuel at the base at Pearl Harbor. We'll also be taking on several extra barrels of fuel as well."

"Uh huh," Indy acknowledged. He drew a straight line in red pencil from Guam to the Hawaiian Islands.

Zim continued, "Then we'll fly west toward…"

As she spoke, Indy drew a straight red line between each stopping point, steadily progressing the line until it reached it's destination…

* * *

Leningrad was, mercifully, a much more peaceful city to be in after the horrifically scarred and destroyed environment that was called the city of Stalingrad. 

The journey just to get to Stalingrad took the better part of two days. Indy had made several unsuccessful attempts to engage her in conversation as they flew, but their first fuel stop after the Hawaiian Islands had rattled him.

They had been flying on autopilot when the engines began to sputter. Zim studied the files and photographs of the Tempus Simia while Indy dozed in the rear of the aircraft. The dying engine roused him and sent him up to the cockpit in a very nervous state.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Indy demanded.

"Nothing is wrong." Zim replied.

The engines died altogether.

"Sounds like _something_ is wrong!" Indy practically shouted.

"Calm yourself, Doctor," Zim said serenely. She was clearly enjoying herself, or rather enjoying his excited mood, "We are merely out of fuel."

"And this is normal? Where is our fuel stop?", Indy was slowly shifting from panicked to angry. He could tell she knew what she was doing and hadn't bothered to inform him.

"Right there." She indicted behind her with her thumb.

Indy swiveled his head in disbelief. She was talking about the fuel drums. The plane didn't have enough range to make it to the army base in Japan on one load of petrol, so they would have to land in the ocean, pump fuel from the barrels into the plane's tanks and then resume their journey.

It was a clear day, and the seas were relatively calm, though they did bounce off a couple of waves during landing. Indy was dumbfounded not only at the idea that they had just glided to a landing without use of the engines, but were now sitting out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

When Zim got up to begin the process of pumping the fuel, Indy confronted her.

"All right, _Lieutenant!_" Indy practically spat out the word, "Let's get one thing straight. I'm allowing you to tag along on this trip because it's the only way I'll get access to the Ark once it's over. But from now on there better not be any more surprises like this or I will leave you sitting on the platform of a train station somewhere while I go find the Tempus Simia. I was teaching college before you were out of diapers, and I think I'm entitled to a little respect."

"You finished?" her glare was ice cold.

"I…" Indy thought a second, "That's about it, yes."

Zim proceeded to move past him toward the fuel barrels. He grabbed her arm.

"I want some answers!" he barked.

Sometimes, though it does not happen often, two people are able to communicate with each other without ever speaking a word. It depends on the people communicating, of course, but every now and then a sort of 'link', as it were, can occur between two people who seem to just have the natural ability to read each other; even seemingly read other's thoughts, though not on a consciously deliberate level.

When Zim spun around to face him again, her eyes once more lit up with emerald rage. If it were anyone else who had grabbed her, she would have had them pinned and writhing in agony in a matter of seconds. Something held her back, and she did know what. In addition, based on their first meeting, Indy knew she could probably hurt him substantially, but also knew she wouldn't. If asked, he would never have been able to explain why he knew this, only that he knew it.

For a split second, something undefined passed between them, and then it was gone.

"I will conduct this mission in any manner I see fit, Dr. Jones," Zim was unmistakably angry, but also a little shaken, "And if that means I withhold information from you, then that's part of 'how I see fit'."

"Fine," Indy barked, "But if I gain any information or knowledge on this trip without your knowing it, then I will decide what _I_ share with _YOU!"_

They stood in the middle of the plane, furiously trying to stare each other down. The aircraft rocked gently on the ocean waves while water sloshed against the side of the fuselage.

Zim opened her mouth to shout at him, but Indy turned his back and made his way up to the cockpit. He settled in the co-pilot's seat, leaned back, and drew his hat down over his eyes, apparently intending to take a nap.

"I'm sure you can handle the re-fueling procedure, since you also chose to withhold _that_ information from me." He said coolly.

Zim clenched her fists, gritted her teeth and made her way to the rear of the aircraft.

Three hours later, she'd emptied the barrels into the fuel tanks, then dumped the empty containers into the ocean and returned, exhausted, to the pilot's seat. Indy barely paid any attention, though he did sit up when Zim began acting as though the engines wouldn't restart. They sputtered a few times while Zim murmured one or two phrases about being 'too far out for a rescue attempt'; she made sure to murmur loud enough for him to hear. Once the engines did finally fire up – right when she expected them to – Indy leaned back in his seat with an audible sigh of relief. Zim couldn't help it as a rather wicked grin played across her face. He noticed and glared angrily at her.

They didn't talk for the duration of the flight.

•••

When they arrived in Stalingrad, both Zim and Indy were amazed and shocked at what they saw. Zim knew that the nine month long battle - the bloodiest in human history that claimed over two million lives – had been devastating to the city, but she had no idea to what extent.

Not surprising, and indeed, perhaps a little sad, propaganda posters everywhere touted the glorious victory of Mother Russia and her empire over the forces of fascism and tyranny. But they were all about the great victory that had been won as if single-handedly by Josef Stalin himself.

They were met by a contingent of low-level U.S. officials and several KGB officers who assigned them an escort, though his true purpose was to keep an eye on them and make sure they did not deviate from their intended plans. He was a young political officer by the name of Vasiley Abramov, a wet-behind-the-ears kid no older than eighteen. He'd been charged with 'escorting' the two Americans north to Leningrad and assisting them in their search for the mysterious temple.

It hadn't been easy to arrange for travel visas. Tensions between the Soviet Union were, ironically, heating up already. The beginning of what would be known as 'The Cold War' was still a couple of years from getting into full swing, but already the Soviet Government was demonstrating a serious distrust of America and its citizens.

The journey by train took another two days, and the three of them had to spend the entire time in the same cramped sitting compartment. Indy played a few card games with Vasiley while Zim read newspapers or sat and stared out the window.

She and Indy didn't talk to each other at all. Indy had made one or two half-hearted attempts at conversation but it was obvious to Zim he was only trying to fill the awkward silences with empty talk and she was having none of it. Zim was hoping they could solve everything with this visit to the temple near Leningrad and be done with the assignment. In fact, if they were able to gather sufficient information, Zim intended to dismiss Indy from the mission altogether and complete it alone. He may have been the guy who liked to do Solo work, but she believed she could get the job done better without him.

The journey passed uneventfully albeit monotonously, and the three of them were glad to finally get a chance to stretch their legs once they arrived in Leningrad.

Zim thought the many-steepled city that had once been known as Saint Petersburg was simply breathtaking. Round spires of the Russian Orthodox Church dotted the skyline as far as her eyes could see. Most of the churches sat empty since the Soviet Government firmly believed that Marxism could not thrive unless religious beliefs were suppressed and done away with. However, since the citizens of the Soviet Union valued their cathedrals as historic prized possessions, the government refrained from tearing them down altogether.

Vasiley arranged for a Soviet transport truck to take them out to the site where the temple was located. Zim noted with some irony that the truck was actually a U.S. military vehicle sold to the Soviet Union to aid in their war effort.

They reached the site of the temple just before dusk.

There wasn't much to it. The entrance was marked by a large formation of rocks – boulders and stones that jutted from the ground – that sat on a remote, unused corner of a wheat farm about forty miles west of Leningrad. Since the farmer could not grow anything on this patch of land, he never went near the spot. No one had for generations, and it was clearly an act of luck – or fate – that the German supply train had stumbled upon it.

On a small stone that sat next to a gap in two larger stones was an inscription. Neither Indy nor Zim could decipher its meaning, though it was clearly East Asian in nature. They surmised that it must have been from a long dead dialect of Mandarin, or at least perhaps the parent dialect of it. Stepping past the stone led them to a short passage between the larger boulders, and then an abrupt right turn at which point there were about eighteen steps leading underground. But going any further at this juncture would have led them into pitch blackness.

"Do you have an electric torch?" Indy asked the young political officer.

"Nyet," Vasiley replied, "But I do have a lighter. We can perhaps fashion real torches from some of the dry sticks cast off by the trees outside."

Indy nodded and proceeded with Vasiley outside where they set about making torches from medium sized branches and extra cloth from the soldier's pack. He had a few ounces of kerosene for refilling the lighter and sprinkled it on the cloths wrapped around each of the three torches. Soon they were making their way down the dark passageway.

The room was not that large, perhaps fifteen by fifteen feet, and rough in its corner angles. The walls were covered with Chinese symbols while a pedestal sat in the middle of the chamber. It was clear that at one point, something had sat upon this pedestal, and it wasn't too hard to guess what it was. Indy and Zim scanned around the chamber to find a decent starting point in the markings.

Something caught Zim's eye. She spoke directly to Indy for the first time in several days. "Dr. Jones, would you please come here?"

Surprised, Indy crossed the chamber and stood next to Zim.

He put on his spectacles and studied the inscriptions, attempting to translate them in his mind. Then to his shock, an abstract thought dropped into his head like a thief attempting to tread where he doesn't belong:

'_I like the smell of her hair._'

Indy literally stepped back two paces as if pushed by the random thought. He shook his head slightly, reorganized his mind, and then resumed gazing at the wall.

"What did you want me to look at?" He asked Zim.

"This symbol here, do you know it?" She pointed to a specific spot on the wall.

"Seems to be a derivative of 'Shao Lin'." Indy said after a moment.

"I thought as much," Zim nodded her head as if she was just receiving confirmation, then pointed to the wall nearby, "This is where it begins. And this particular symbol represents an ancient order of Shao Lin monks. I studied with a sub-sect of their order when I was younger."

"You think these monks are the origination of the body piece?" Indy asked.

"I don't know if they carved the idol, but I am willing to bet that it was whole when in their possession." Zim speculated.

"And they decided to scatter the two halves as far from each other as possible." Indy concluded, nodding. "Either they carved the idol, or were it was given to them. In any case, they certainly must have believed in its powers. My vote's for the latter."

"Why?"

"Because of the similarity to the Japanese legend. The Tempus Simia may have originated in Japan, and found its way across to mainland China where the Shao Lin monks decided to separate the head from the body." Indy speculated, "Whatever the case, it happened a long time ago. Everything in here, from the design of the pedestal to the derivation of the dialect used in the writing; it all pre-dates civilized Russia. When the body piece was brought here, the locals were still living in primitive tribal collectives."

"It would seem the next logical step would be to seek out this order of monks." Zim concluded.

Indy nodded, adjusting his fedora, "They might have documented histories hidden in a sacred chamber somewhere, documentations that describe what exactly the Tempus Simia is and what it does."

"So you really think this idol holds the power of time travel?" Zim looked at him.

"Logic says 'no', there's no such thing as a time travel device." Indy offered his opinion, "But I've seen some things in my time that cause me to keep a flexible mind. I prefer to be open to what's Possible."

Jones turned his attention back toward the walls.

"The rest of this is just flowery prose about the mysterious powers of the idol. It says what it can do, but not much else, I really don't think it's of much use." He stated.

"Then we need to be on our way to China." Zim said firmly.

"I am sorry," Zim and Indy were startled by Vasiley's voice, "But I am afraid you will not be going anywhere."

They looked over and saw Vasiley holding his weapon on them.

"Vasiley?" Indy took a step toward the young man, "What is this? What's going on?"

"What is going on," replied a deep voice from the passageway, "Is that you two will not be allowed to leave this room."

A man stepped into the doorway, he was wearing a Russian Army uniform. He slid the bolt back on his PPD-34 submachine gun, raised it, and fired.

Indy dove for the ground. But Zim was moving the second she heard the bolt of the weapon slide into place.

She spun and kicked Vasiley's weapon from him, then knocked his torch from his grasp as her kick swept through his hands. The torch fell to the ground and sputtered out. Her torch had already hit the ground and also went out. The second her foot came around, she sprinted for the opposite wall.

The submachine gun began spewing bullets into the chamber. Vasily took three rounds and went down hard.

Indy rolled once and hurled the torch at the gunman, coming to a stop on his side. As the firebrand flew through the air, he swept his hand back and snatched his whip, then continued to sweep his hand back so that the whip would uncoil behind him.

Zim ran several steps up the opposite wall – bullets impacting all around her – and pushed off. She threw her head back and did a backward handspring off the pedestal in the center of the room, flying straight at the Russian soldier who ducked away from the torch. Though he flinched, he did not let go of the trigger, firing bullets harmlessly into the ceiling.

The whip sizzled through the air and wrapped itself with a loud _CRACK! _around the gun. Indy rolled back the other way, yanking with all his strength, pulling the gun from its wielder's grasp a split second before Zim's feet thudded into the soldier's chest and slammed him to the ground.

The last torch finally sputtered out. Indy heard the unmistakable sound of two fist impacts against a jaw, then the grunt of a male voice, and then nothing but his own breathing and fast-beating heart.

"Lieutenant… uh… Lieutenant…"

"Johnson." She reminded him from the darkness. "That was a foolish thing you did with the whip, Dr. Jones."

"Is that how they say 'thank you' in the Army?"

"You pulled that gun toward you," Zim ignored him, "You could have been shot, and the mission compromised."

"Yeah, sounds like standard military gratitude all right. Did you kill him?"

"I struck the nerve cluster at the base of the skull. He will be unconscious for a long time."

Indy got to his feet and unconsciously coiled the whip, returning it to its customary place.

A tiny light blazed forth. Zim was hovering above Vasiley's body, having retrieved his lighter. She took one of the torches and lit it, then motioned for Indy to come over to where she was. Handing the torch to him, she began to rifle through Vasiley's coat and the small pack he had with him. She pulled out a small device from the pack and then raised her finger to her lips, motioning for Indy to be silent,

She smashed the device to the ground, destroying it.

"Radio transmitter," she said, "They tracked us. But since he was lying on top of the pack, I don't think they heard the last parts of our conversation."

Indy looked over at the unconscious Russian, "Who tracked us?"

Zim was already moving toward the other soldier. Indy followed her over. She took a quick look at the uniform and then began checking the pockets.

"Commander…" She said looking through the identification papers, "Member of the Communist Party… oh my, KGB Identification papers, he's a special one… and even a signed and dated letter authorizing him to use any means necessary in conducting 'his assignment', bears the official seal of the Politburo."

"Commander's a pretty high rank," Indy thought out loud, "Why didn't he order someone to come down here to shoot us if that was their intention?"

Zim looked up at Indy with genuine worry, "And if that really was their intention, why wait for us to get down here? Why not eliminate us earlier, up in the field?"

Indy could tell by the look on her face that she already had an answer and was leading him to it. It was a little condescending, and it annoyed him somewhat, but he supposed she was trying to at least be courteous, so he played along.

Then it did dawn on him a few seconds later, "The radio transmitter."

Zim nodded, "They listened to everything we said. Do they know who you are?"

"I've been in this country once or twice," Indy confirmed, "And this government's been denied a prize or two thanks to my efforts. You know, I was actually here during the revolution."

"Oh!" Zim pretended to brighten, "How irrelevant! So basically they might have a grudge against you."

Indy scowled at her, "Or they might realize that I'm after something important."

Zim nodded, noting his scowl with pleasure, "They wanted information as to why you were here. Once they got the idea, you and I were to be eliminated."

"I still don't understand why he didn't bring a contingent of soldiers and just have them eliminate us." Indy said.

"I hold the rank of 'Lieutenant'" Zim explained, "I can order roughly two/thirds of the personnel in the United States Military. But I work alone. The only person who possesses a high rank and works alone is an operative of some kind; an operative on a mission."

Indy nodded in agreement, "It's a sure bet the KGB is going to send someone after the Tempus Simia now. Terrific, another runner in the race; Nazis on one side and Stalinists on the other."

"Then we'll have to run that much faster", all thoughts of getting rid of Indy had vanished from her head, "We have to find a way to get out of the Soviet Union."

"Right now I bet whoever received that transmission wrote down everything we said and is reporting it to a superior. That superior is reporting it to his superior and it'll travel up a long chain of command before anyone actually makes a decision. We may have some time to slip out of this country."

Zim looked down at herself. She was in her field uniform; pants and jacket with official military rank displayed.

"Except I stick out like a sore thumb." She said dejectedly. "Someone will at least spot us and take us in for questioning."

Indy stooped over and looked through the papers Zim had taken from the Russian Commander, then grinned a large, one-sided grin at her. "These identification papers don't have any accompanying photographs, and the physical descriptions are vague at best. I bet this guy's coat will fit me just fine. Who is going to question a Commander with the KGB in possession of a letter with a Politburo seal authorizing him to use any means necessary to complete his mission?"

Zim finally did genuinely brighten, "A political officer escorting a United States military visitor! How's your Russian?"

"Like I said, I was here during the Revolution-"

"Yes, yes," Zim threw a dismissive wave at him, "You probably watched God create the Earth when you were a kid. I get it: you've been around. Thank you Mr. World Traveler, can we get on with this?"

"You know," Indy growled, "Just when I start to think I might consider liking you just a little bit…"

They tied the Russian Commander to the base of the pedestal and draped Vasiley's body across him.

•••

Indy's Russian was actually impeccable, without even a trace of accent.

Zim was initially furious at Indy when, in Leningrad, he ordered two extra private luxury cars be attached to the train complete with staff to wait on them hand and foot. But she came to realize that attracting attention was precisely what Indy was trying to do. Everyone in the Soviet Union with a high rank couldn't help but lord it over their 'Comrades'; privilege was rare, and frequently abused. Had Indy and Zim taken a small compartment even in first class, and kept to themselves, that would have raised suspicions. But as it was, Indy was sufficiently tyrannical so that the entire staff, the conductors and even the engineers (who came back to offer a personal greeting to Indy and his guest) had no second thoughts about their presence on the train, and thus reported it to no one.

Zim had to stifle a few giggles while watching Indy go on tirades about how his bathwater was too cold, or the meals were overcooked, or the vodka was too warm. He couldn't resist embarrassing Zim by ordering her room attendant to apologize to her profusely for the "sorry condition of her quarters". It was all she could do not to burst out laughing as she rendered the appropriately hesitant absolution for the room attendant's contrition. By the end of the second day, she began to suspect Indy might even be showing off for her benefit.

Whatever the circumstances, she thoroughly enjoyed the hot bath both mornings, as well as the lavish meals in the evenings and was surprised to find a little bit of gratitude in her heart toward him.

The one problem they ran into was that someone at the river docks in Stalingrad noticed as Indy got into the plane with Zim. Though this wasn't terribly unusual, it was mentioned to a supervisor and passed up the chain of command.

Someone at the KGB was not pleased.

The head engineer of the train, the chief of attendants on the train's staff, and the head supervisor at the Leningrad train station were eventually sent to Siberia.

* * *

On his map, Indy drew a series of connecting red lines between Stalingrad and Shanghai.

* * *

Three days later, Zim and Indy ascended a mountain near a small village some two hundred miles north of the Chinese city of Shanghai. Near the summit of the low mountain, they were greeted at the gates of a Shao Lin Monastery by a young monk who led them to the chambers of the Chief of the Order of Guardians. 

The trip had been a long one, and Zim and Indy had so thoroughly gotten on each others' nerves that they were once again not speaking to each other. Zim was fed up with her companion and didn't notice his increasing agitation the closer they got to the Monastery.

Zim put her hands together and bowed to the Chief, who returned her bow and merely nodded at Indy, who looked very uncomfortable.

The entirety of their conversation was in the Chinese dialect of Mandarin.

Zim was completely honest with the Chief, whose name translated to 'Clear Sky', about their purpose for being there. They had spent less than a day in Shanghai investigating the whereabouts of the Order of Guardians. Indy seemed to discover the location in a bar in one of the seedier sections of the city.

Clear Sky listened patiently, without interrupting, or otherwise showing any emotion. When Zim was finished with her story and had made her request for information about the Tempus Simia, the Chief got up, motioned for them to follow him, and led them to an inner chamber.

Indy began to look even more uncomfortable.

"Let me tell you why we are called 'The Order of Guardians'", Clear Sky spoke as soon as they were all in the room, "We are an order who has been charged with keeping information, as well as guarding the remains of some of China's greatest leaders."

He gestured to a shelf that was adorned with two rows of jade urns.

"Here," He indicated the urn closest to him, "Are the earthly remains of the first Emperor of the Han Dynasty."

Clear Sky gave Indy a glance, then continued.

"Here, the remains of the Empress Wu, of the Tang Dynasty. And here, the remains of Nurhachi, first emperor of the Manchu Dynasty."

Zim gave the Chief a quizzical look, "My apologies, Clear Sky, but there is no urn where you are indicating."

"That is correct," the Chief continued to gaze at Indy, "The remains of Nurhachi were taken from this very chamber twelve years ago, during the last Year of the Dog. You would call it 1934."

There were now two people gazing at Indy. To be more precise, one was gazing, the other was glaring.

"You have _got_ to be joking." Zim's tone was anything but amused.

"We will give you the information you seek," Clear Sky said calmly, "Provided you go forth from our walls and return with what was taken from us. Once you return with Nurhachi, you will learn all that you have come here to learn."

"I _knew_ I should have left you in Russia," Zim fumed as they left the compound, "I have a mission to complete. I cannot be wasting time trying to clean up your messes while two hostile parties attempt to get their hands on the Tempus Simia."

Indy said nothing, but genuinely looked as though he were regretting something.

"I hope you at least have an idea who's got it," Zim growled.

"I have a pretty good idea," Indy said quietly, "And I have a score to settle with him."

* * *

"KIM! You better get out here! I'm up to my ears in henchmen, and thugs… aw man, are those ninjas?" 

Kim was jolted from her reading by Ron's semi-frantic voice.

"Just go," Wade said calmly, "don't worry about de-cloaking."

Kim lifted the door of the vehicle and scrambled out, breaking into a sprint. She wasn't wearing civilian clothes over her new battlesuit; a ninja outfit just like Ron's but with blue highlights. She pulled on her mask and spoke as she ran.

"Where are you, Ron?"

"Don't worry about me for the time being," Ron's voice was punctuated by the fact that he was obviously hitting and kicking people, "I need you to trail Locke. I couldn't get close enough to him, and I think I can create enough of a distraction for you to follow him and maybe see what he's up to. So far, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know it's me out here-… Geeze! Where are all these guys coming from?"

"Wade?" Kim asked calmly.

"Ron was sure he saw the monkey go into a bar just off the southeast corner of the square, move to your left and you'll find a narrow alley that should get you pretty close to where you need to go."

Kim moved without hesitating, sprinting down the street and ducking up the alleyway.

"Fork in the road, Wade", Kim said as she spied two branches of the alley splitting off in two different directions.

•••

Back at his command station in the basement of his house, Wade was having a very difficult time keeping track of two people, he turned to the monitor on the extreme upper right side of an entire wall of monitors and touched the screen, "Baby, I need you to get down here!"

The image on the monitor showed Wade's wife, Monique, curled up in a chair and watching TV. She jumped up out of the chair and ran out of the monitor's frame.

"I'm comin' sweetie!"

•••

Back in Tripoli, Kim had run into some trouble. The second she turned down the alleyway, she ran headlong into a group of thugs on their way to see what the commotion was on the other side of the bazaar.

As is often the case in hero vs. villain/henchmen confrontations, no one needed to ask about allegiances. They recognized Kim as one of the good guys, even if they didn't recognize the fact that she was Kim Possible. There were twelve of them, and they attacked immediately.

•••

"What's up Baby Boy?" Monique asked breathlessly when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Get in that chair and put on those sleeves," Wade barked without looking up, "I need you to interface with Kim just in case she needs help."

Monique nervously scooted into a chair near Wade's and slid on two arm bands with blue highlights.

"But I've never done this before!" Monique put her hands up in protest.

•••

Kim's hands raised in an inexplicable shrug, perfectly mimicking Monique's movements. She faltered for a second, then spun, kicking out a leg and driving a thug into the one behind him.

•••

"The two monitors in the center row in front of you show two different views; left monitor is Kim's rear view, right monitor is her forward view. You see a bad guy come within reach on either of those monitors, punch 'em!" Wade explained hurriedly.

•••

Kim dodged and kicked several more henchmen, leaping from one wall of the narrow alley to the other, and knocking heads together with her feet as she went up over them. The stripes on Kim's suit glowed blue as she took several wild swings at nearby bad guys but to no avail. She continued to pivot on her feet, faster and faster as her legs unerringly found targets and drove into them.

One guy got too close. The lines on Kim's suit glowed as her right fist shot out and slammed into his face.

•••

"I got him!" Monique exclaimed breathlessly, "I GOT HIM!"

She raised her arms in triumph.

•••

Kim's arms went up in a bizarre 'touchdown' gesture.

"Monique!" She squealed.

"Oops! Sorry Kim!" Monique said over the transmitter.

"Why don't I handle things for awhile, Mo?" Kim said casually as the remaining five henchmen advanced upon her.

"Got it," Monique's voice said in her ear, "Sorry, hon."

"So not the drama." Kim said smiling, then closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.

_Come on mystical monkey power,_ She thought, relaxing and allowing the power to course through her. Two years before, Kim had discovered that Ron's Monkey Kung Fu had 'transferred' to her when they consummated their marriage. Ron still had his power, but now his wife shared in the use of Tai Xing Pek Wah.

Her eyes opened just as they rushed her.

They were prepared for her to leap into the air again, and try to get past them into the marketplace beyond. They were not prepared for her to dart forward, head down, and ram herself into the center henchman. Knocking the wind out of the center goon, Kim's leg's simultaneously went into a 'split' position, thudding into the guards on either side of her. As the center guard fell over backward, she brought her hands forward and pushed off of his chest just as he hit the ground, her legs spun and caught one of the remaining guards on the chin. She then twisted and landed in an upright position, facing the final thug.

He was tense, preparing himself for anything. His fists were clenched, and his eyes darted all around, waiting for her inevitable erratic maneuver.

Kim took two steps forward and punched him in the face. Apparently he hadn't been expecting that.

"Wade," She said calmly, "I need a location on-"

Voices were coming around the corner.

Kim looked around hurriedly and saw a stack of metallic crates with latches on them, she darted over to one of the crates and scrambled into it, closing the lid quietly just as the voices came around the corner.

It was Locke, and several other men. Locke was speaking into a communications device.

"You're sure it's Stoppable?" He asked in an extremely annoyed tone.

"Confirmed." Came a reply from the transmitter.

"All right, then we're going to have to postpone the meeting. Get the hover jet ready for immediate departure, and send some more men in to keep him busy!"

"Acknowledged," came the clipped reply.

Locke and those with him moved off down the alley. Kim peered at them through the tiny slit between the lip of the crate and the slightly raised lid. She was startled when something landed on the lid with a light _'thump'._ It scampered back and forth across the lid of the crate. Kim knew right away it was the cyber monkey.

It let out a loud squeal in Locke's direction.

Locke stopped in his tracks, turned around, then slowly smiled as he pointed at the crate. Several of his men rushed forward.

•••

Ron was just dispatching the last henchman in the immediate area when Wade's voice rang in his ears.

"Kim's in trouble," he said calmly, "She's trapped in some kind of crate."

"Where?"

"Last known position was in the alley behind the southeast corner of the bar."

"'Last known position?'"

"I can't get a lock on her signal. Whatever she's trapped in seems to be interfering with my sensors. Communications with her are down as well." Wade explained.

"On my way," Ron responded. He took three steps and suddenly the crowd in the marketplace scattered, making a space between him and six ninjas lined up in a perfect row, all carrying Nun-Chucks.

They took a step forward in perfect unison, swinging their weapons as one. Not a single one of them messed up the timing or missed a maneuver. It was a show of intimidation and challenge. Together they stood, the Nun-Chucks swinging first over one shoulder, then over the other, all in perfect synch with each other. When they finished their display, they all looked at him with defiant, gleeful eyes.

_I don't have time for this,_ Ron thought with an annoyed look on his face. He glanced around, then took a step backward, finding himself up against a wall.

Several of the ninjas let out an evil chuckle.

Ron tore the cover off a fuse box on the side of the building, then drove his left fist into it while extending his right hand toward the advancing ninjas. Electricity sparked and sizzled from the box, across his shoulders, and blazed forth from his outstretched hand like a bolt of horizontal lightning. The energy struck the ninja on the far right, and flung him backwards, into the air, sailing across the vast space of the bazaar. Ron slowly swathed his hand to the right as the bolt thundered into each of the ninjas and tossed them into the air, or simply hurled them backwards. In three seconds they were all gone. Ron pulled his fist from the fuse box and looked around for the alley.

The crowd in the marketplace erupted in cheers.

"Wade!" Ron barked, "I thought you said this suit could absorb energy! What I just did freakin' tingled like you would not believe!"

"Did it?" Wade's voice sounded apologetic, "I'll take a look at the suit when you get back. In the meantime, you may not have any body hair for awhile."

"You better hope Kim won't mind snugglin' up with Smooth Ron for the next few weeks. You know she likes my belly hair," he quipped.

"TMI! TMI!" Wade protested, "I'm trying to fight off the mental image you just gave me! My wife, however, thinks it's hilarious."

"Tell Monique I said 'thanks a lot'."

Ron sprinted across the square when he caught sight of a metal crate being hauled by several henchmen. They ducked into an alley and Ron followed more than ten seconds later after fighting his way through the crowded market. He sprinted down the alley and came to a skidding halt at a junction.

"ROOOOOON!"

He turned in the direction of his wife's voice and ran off. Kim called his name once again and it echoed off the walls of the narrow alley, seeming to come from everywhere at once. He raced through several more junctions, deeper into what had become a labyrinth of alleys. At one three way junction he had to stop again. He spun a couple of times, trying to catch sight of the men carrying the crate with his wife trapped inside.

"You can't do this to me, I'm working for Global Justice! ROOOOOON!"

Ron took off after the voice, sprinted to the end of the alley and skidded once more to a stop. His jaw dropped in disbelief. He had come upon a smaller marketplace, though it was no less crowded.

There were at least a hundred men carrying some thirty identical metallic crates.

Ron stared for a second, then began leaping through the crowd, tearing open the covers of each crate and knocking them off the shoulders of those carrying them. Soon a crowd gathered around Ron in protest of the mess he was making.

"STOPPABLE!"

Ron spun in time to see three men duck down an alley with a metallic crate. He fought his way through the crowd and sprinted after them.

He watched as the crate was taken around a corner on the far end of the alley. Several seconds later, he raced around the corner and into the withering onslaught of blaster fire; lasers tore through the air and pelted the ground all around him. He skidded, turned and ducked back around the corner as the blasters continued to tear holes in the nearby buildings and generally destroy everything they hit.

Ron had seen all he needed to, however. There was a large black hover jet with its engines already winding up just down the street. The metallic crate was loaded into it, and the engines powered up with a roar.

A torrent of laser fire continued to rip the ground and walls around him. Ron took a deep breath, stepped out into the street, raised his right arm and fired his grappling cable.

The jet was just lifting into the air. Ron's grappler caught the left engine and held fast. Ron ducked and weaved through the blaster fire to a nearby steel column that had once been a support post for a large building. He managed to get around the post several times before the cable went taught. Ron knew the strength of the grappling cables Wade built into the battle suits. He just hoped the hover jet wouldn't rip the post from the ground.

It didn't.

Instead, the left engine was ripped from the aircraft. It plummeted to the ground with an earth shaking _FWUMP._ Ron shielded his face then looked up just in time to see the aircraft - spinning out of control - slam into the ground and explode, consumed in a massive orange fireball.


	4. Mysteries

Author's notes: I'm hoping to update this story roughly every two weeks, just so you know, though there might be a delay for a few days on this next chapter. Got a lot on my plate just now. Some of you may have noticed a pattern in this story; every adventure that Ron and Kim have are basically adventured from the Indy trilogy. I kind of liked the idea of these characters in these situations, though slightly modified to fit the modern-day story arc. Anyway, I'm just paying homage to one of my favorite movie trilogies; the story arc involving Zim and Indy will remain original, though it will draw from some of Indy's past adventures, as you'll see in this chapter. And to clarify: this is not the sequel to UNION, but rather a spin-off that takes place in the "REUNIVERSE" (thank you Ms. Mutt Li for that particularly catchy moniker).

If anyone's interested, there are illustrations that go along with this story posted at my DevArt Page. Just follow the link in my profile (and thanks again to Ms. Mutt Li for all her hard work on the illustrations), check them out, they're well worth taking a look at.

Thanks to all the readers.

Special thanks to the reviewers: (and once again) Ms Mutt Li, Cilghal16, Jokerisdaking, Zaratan, Augusta, Seamas Dubh, JPMod, Pwn Master Paladin, WidowShark, Qracer23, MrDrP, CaptainKodak1, MrDrP, puppyface, Ezbok58a, Spectre666, qtpie235, Mattb3671, Lydia King, whitem, jasminevr, Ace Ian Combat, and GAP.

And one again, I'd like to plug "The Darkness Within", by the GWA. WesUAH just posted a terrific chapter 4 and the man I'm sure you've all been waiting for, CaptainKodak1, is up next. Link is in my fave author's list.

"You call him Dr. Jones, doll!"

* * *

Chapter 4. Mysteries

* * *

"**_KIM!"_**

* * *

****

Ron Stoppable sat at a table at a small outdoor café just off the northern end of the marketplace in Tripoli. It had been just over twenty four hours since the aircraft plummeted from the sky, pulled down by his grappling cable, destroying the hover jet and everyone inside.

Everyone, including his wife, Kim Possible.

Upon impact, Ron had sprinted toward the wreckage, but was thrown back by the secondary explosion as the reserve fuel tanks ignited and erupted. There wasn't much left for the fire brigades to deal with. What really seemed out of place was the fact that no one in any kind of law enforcement position ever showed up. There was no inquest, no investigation… Libyan police seemed uninterested in such an incident. It was perhaps due to the fact that this particular section of the city was notorious for its lawlessness and thus all who went into it were left to fend for themselves.

In light of this, the surrounding neighborhoods seemed remarkably civil. People died all the time, but women and children were generally left alone as were the local 'honest' business merchants because everyone saw the need for the appearance of civility.

Honor among thieves, as it were.

Ron lost all feeling, in his mind, in his soul; he turned completely numb and moved about as though in a daze. Rational thought seemed to be taking a vacation. He asked after potential survivors of the crash, but the fire captain practically laughed at him.

He didn't want to go home, thinking that if he did, the finality of what had happened would sink it's grim claws into him and he might just go a bit crazy.

Kim was gone. He couldn't get that particular reality to settle into his mind. He didn't want to. Ron didn't want to deal with any reality. He engaged the override on his Ronin suit, cutting off all communication with Wade and proceeded to find a way to make reality go away.

Until that day, Ron Stoppable hadn't been much of a drinker. By the end of it, he was consuming alcohol like a wet-vac, and not much else. He slept in an alley the previous night, and woke up with the powerful urge to drive away the reality that had crept in during the cold darkness. He resumed his place at the table and simply kept ordering. No one said anything, or asked to see some cash, or even bothered to ask him any questions. In fact, no one bothered him at all. A sober Ronin would had noticed this and seen the warning signs. Most of the people here; villains, henchmen, criminals and assorted lowlifes would practically celebrate the chance to eliminate the notorious hero. But someone had made it known that he was not to be touched. As long as he was at the table and drinking, he was to be left alone.

But since Ronin was definitely not sober, Ron didn't much care what was happening around him. Reality – Kim's death – threatened to cave in on him, so he drank. Part of him even wished one of these thugs would just end it all. He didn't even want to imagine life without her. But taking his own life was out of the question. Some time ago he had already tried that, and had been saved. He'd promised the Almighty he'd never try that again. And every time thoughts of his daughter crept into his mind, he tossed back another drink. She had four loving grandparents, they could take care of her. Wade had been right; the timeline wasn't set in stone. Now TJ would never be born, and who knows what effect that could have on events?

No… can't think about that. Must drink more.

Ron didn't even twitch when the cyber monkey dropped onto his table. He just sat and stared at the creature numbly. It didn't matter…

…nothing mattered anymore.

"Agent Ronin?" A voice said from very far away, "Will you come with me? Someone inside wishes to speak with you."

Ron looked up, bleary-eyed, unable to focus. He couldn't tell who was talking to him, but there were three of them. What did he care? Ron struggled to his feet and followed one of them inside the café, while the other two followed close behind him. The monkey perched itself on Ron's shoulder.

Inside it was dark, hazy, crowded with all sort of nefarious characters. At one point or another, all eyes shifted to Ronin and lingered, oozing hatred. There were even a few in this room who had tasted defeat at the hands of Ron Stoppable.

Ron stepped up to a particularly seedy looking gentleman and mumbled, "Are you looking for me?"

The man laughed in his face and walked away. Ron watched him go in confusion. He looked at his escorts who simply returned his gaze. Then he looked around the café some more.

Ron sensed him before he saw him.

"Bill Locke," he growled and turned around.

Sitting at a single table, looking very smug, was William Locke, once a fellow agent at GJ, now a freelance criminal and styling himself as Ron Stoppable's rival. Seeing the former agent was a surprise. Ron originally was convinced Locke had something to do with Kim's death. But if Locke wasn't on that plane, someone else must have taken his wife.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stoppable," he said pleasantly.

"I ought to kill you right now," Ron said quietly.

"Not a very private place for a murder," Locke observed.

Ron moved over to the table, "These lowlifes won't care if we kill each other. They're not going to interfere in our business."

Locke regarded him for a moment, "It was not I who brought your wife into this. Please, sit down before you fall down. We can at least behave like civilized people."

Ron set the bottle he was carrying down on the table with a '_thunk'_, pulled the chair out and almost fell into it. Rufinator slithered down Ron's arm and settled nearby.

"I see your taste in friends remains consistent," Locke observed, "How odd that it should end this way for us. It's been such a stimulating contest. I almost regret it. Where shall I find a new adversary so close to my own level?"

"Try the local sewer."

Locke chuckled, "You and I are very much alike. International Law is our religion, yet we have both fallen from the purer faith."

"'International Law'?" Ron asked with contempt.

"I want the same things you want," Locke insisted, "A world with order, structure. Everyone working toward a common goal. Soon, I will be able to bring about that kind of reality. One united world under my rule; a world of law, of ordered discipline. Our motives are not as different as you pretend. For the time being, I am but a shadowy reflection of you. It would take only a nudge to make you like me, to push you out of the spotlight."

"Now you're getting nasty."

Locke smiled and nodded, "You know it's true. How nice."

There was silence between them for a few moments, then Locke withdrew something from his breast pocket.

"Look at this," He put it right in front of Ron's eyes. It was his old Global Justice identification badge, "What do you see? Power? Law? A badge has only the meaning we instill in it. Am I less of an agent just because I am no longer welcome at GJ's front door?"

"Oh, I think they'd let you in if you went for a visit," Ron slurred, "Don't believe me? You should try it."

Locke's eyes narrowed as he smiled again, "Perhaps I will one day soon. All in good time. But I am trying to make a point here and you are not paying very good attention."

"How inconsiderate of me."

"This is just a piece of plastic and a metal badge." Locke went on, "It means nothing. I can still do all the things I ever could when I was a GJ agent. But now I'm not constricted by rules and decorum and idiotic things like 'warrants' and 'probable cause'. I have the means to do what I want, and get what I want. And what I want is a world without villainy, without chaos, without needless death. I will make that happen soon enough."

Ron looked at Locke with bloodshot contempt, "What a vivid imagination."

"You amaze me, Stoppable," Locke appeared as though he really was marveling, "You are now the only person alive who possesses the mystical monkey power known as Tai Xing Pek Wah, and yet you waste it on trivial matters like law enforcement."

Ron felt a twinge at this, Locke knew Kim possessed the monkey power as well, but he was rubbing in the fact that she was gone.

"The things I could do with such power," Locke continued, "If I had what you have… Don't you understand what the IDOL represents? It's a master key into any place I wish to go. Men would kill for it. Men like you and me."

"What about your boss?" Ron mumbled, "I'm sure he's going to want to take possession of what you stole."

"In time, perhaps I will give it to him." Locke allowed, "When I am finished with it. Once I have a few items in my grasp. But then that's why you're here, isn't it? You know the IDOL is just a tool, and you want to keep me from getting my hands on the Ark."

"The Ark?" Ron was genuinely perplexed. He knew Locke was after something, but he had no idea what this 'ark' was; some sort of super weapon perhaps?

Locked sat back in his chair, incredulous. He couldn't help chuckling, "Once again, the legendary Stoppable dumb luck rears its buffoonish head. I thought you had me all figured out and here I am spilling my plans to you like some rookie supervillain. Just amazing."

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, completely annoyed.

"Sorry, no extra hints. Sure, I could tell you the rest of my plans. You're going to be dead in a few minutes anyway." Locke paused to gage Ron's reaction.

It wasn't what he'd expected. He didn't see fear in his rival's eyes. It was almost like… _relief._

"I thought you would have figured it all out judging by some of the company you kept just before you got here." Locke continued, "You know, we had a hard time finding him initially. But then we discovered he had actually been close to someone related to you, can you believe that? All we had to do was eliminate her and he actually came right out into the open!"

"You aren't making any sense!" Ron protested. "What is the Ark?"

Locke leaned in very closely, putting his face only an inch or two away from Ron's, and practically whispered, "An army that marches forth with the Ark before it, is invincible."

Ron finally began to be afraid. Whatever Locke was talking about, it was clear he believed it; enough to make Ron wonder if this 'ark' was as powerful as he indicated.

"Soon," Locke continued almost to himself, "The people of the world will behold a new god who walks among them."

Ron couldn't help laughing, "Don't you think the real God would have a problem with that?"

Locke smirked, "Is it my fault He left one of the most powerful talismans ever created for anyone to come along and do with as they please? I don't think He has much room to talk."

"Maybe we should ask Him," Ron seethed, "I've got nothing better to do, why don't we go see Him together?"

Ron grabbed Locke by the scruff of the shirt and pulled his other fist back, preparing to tear the other man's throat out.

Most of the patrons in the café leaped to their feet, cocking firearms and charging up blasters. Every weapon trained itself on Ron. Locke shook himself from Ron's suddenly distracted grasp and backed away a few steps, opening his mouth to give the order to fire.

Then, a tiny, lone voice rang out in that fraction of a second of silence.

"Durgle!"

Ron stared, utterly incredulous. His daughter was standing just a few feet away from him. Rufus was perched on her shoulder, glowering at him.

"SHOOT THEM!" Locke screamed, "SHOOT THEM BOTH!"

Ron seemed oblivious, "Ronnie-Anne! Sweetheart, what are you doing here?"

"I SAID SHOOT THEM!" Locke screamed once more.

No one moved. Most of the henchmen and thugs in the café either had children, or nieces, or whatever. It was part of the villain's code; kids were strictly off limits. Family members were also not to be touched unless they were directly involved with some sort of law enforcement, such as Kim Possible for instance. Once a criminal crossed that line, he was fair game for anyone, and he usually didn't live long. Locke could have done the deed on his own, but everyone in that room knew he didn't want to put himself in jeopardy with the criminal community. He was a rogue agent, so for that they gave him a pass… this time.

Ron moved toward his daughter and began to reach for her. She giggled, turned around in that awkward way that toddlers have, and trotted away.

"Next time, Ron Stoppable," Locke growled, "It will take more than a child to save you."

Ron ignored him and moved off after his daughter, who was weaving her way through the crowd toward the exit. Many in the café began to laugh.

The Ninjet was parked just outside. Wade was standing next to it.

"I thought I would find you there," Wade said. His tone was laced with both anger and worry. Veronica walked over to Wade and he picked her up. "Saved by the next generation of Stoppable heroes, eh?"

"Kim's dead". Ron said numbly.

"I figured that was what was making you act like this. I'm sorry, Ron. But life goes on." He gave Veronica a playful squeeze. She giggled, while Wade looked back at his friend, "Here is the proof."

Ron held his arms out for his daughter.

Wade shook his head, "Get into the jet."

Ron numbly did as he was told while Wade walked around to the pilot side of the aircraft. The door slid upward and he climbed in, still holding Veronica. Once inside, the jet began to rise almost before the doors closed. Ron took a quick glance to make sure the Lotus Blade was still in it's place, secured to the inside rear of the ceiling. He wasn't able to take it with him into the marketplace because the sight of the weapon initially would have attracted unwanted attention. Then he turned to take his daughter in his arms, but there was no one in the driver's seat. Wade's face appeared on the view screen.

"Holograms!" Ron breathed in relief.

"You didn't think I would actually send your daughter in _there_, did you?" Wade was growing annoyed, "What's wrong with you disappearing like that? I'm beginning to regret installing the override function. Your self-pity issues really are going to get you killed one of these days."

"But Kim was-"

"I know what happened! That doesn't give you the right to go and leave your daughter alone in the world just because you think your wife is dead!" Wade was clearly furious.

Ron was instantly overcome with guilt, he felt almost completely lost. "I don't know what to do Wade, I… she's gone. I don't…I killed her!"

With that, full realization began to sink in, and Ron couldn't keep the tears back any longer.

"No you didn't."

"Wade, please spare me the encouraging pep talk."

"Ron."

" I brought the hover jet down with my grappler-"

"RON!"

"What?"

"If you would shut up for five seconds, I could tell you that I picked up the signal from Kim's suit two hours ago. That's why I came looking for you."

Ron sat staring at the screen, Wade just nodded.

"If the suit was destroyed in the crash…" Ron almost whispered, trailing off.

"…then I wouldn't be getting a signal." Wade finished for him, "And it certainly wouldn't be coming from the southern tip of Greenland."

Ron's heart leaped, "They must have switched crates in the marketplace! Greenland, was it?"

"Course is already laid in," Wade acknowledged, "But it'll be a few hours before you get there."

Ron almost collapsed against the back of his seat in relief. _She was alive!_ His brain was able to wrap around that particular concept much more easily than he was able to deal with her death. Suddenly he found himself missing his wife very much.

He breathed one sigh of relief after another. Whoever had taken Kim would not have gone through the trouble to make it look like she wound up on that hover jet if they were going to kill her. They wanted her alive. The crate-switching was intended to lead him away from her; go chasing after the hover jet while Kim was spirited off by some other means.

Ron looked around the interior of the aircraft, trying to find something to take his mind off the anticipation of looking for Kim. They came to a rest on Nana's journal; a picture-album type of book with an emerald green cover. He chuckled when he remembered Kim's yelp of surprise a couple of days before…

"_RON!"_

"_GAH! Don't scare me like that! You can't sit there for hours reading quietly and then just yell like that!"_

"_Yeah, sorry, did you know Nana and Dr. Jones tried to find the Tempus Simia together?"_

"_You're kidding… **the** Tempus Simia?"_

"_How many others do you think there are?"_

"_Hey, remember our mission rules. Rule 34: 'No getting snarky before a mission.'"_

"_You just now made that up!"_

"_Well, it's going in the rule book… huh…"_

"_What?"_

"_You ever wonder why they called it the Tempus Simia?"_

"_Because it's shaped like a monkey."_

"_Yeah… but why would they do that? I mean for something that powerful, why not carve something more intimidating out of stone and fashion it into a time travel device?"_

"_Such as…?"_

"_Oh, I don't know, like a bird of prey in a perpetual dive…"_

"_Uh huh, and what would you call it?"_

"_Something cool but with a time-travel theme, like 'The Centurion Hawk' or 'Millennium Falcon'"_

"_That just sounds goofy, Ron."_

"_Does it say whether your Nana found the Tempus Simia or not?"_

"_I don't know, I haven't gotten to that part yet…"_

Ron picked up the journal and skimmed through the pages. There were photographs, ticket stubs, a-… was that what he thought it was? He skimmed through the journal some more and found a page that seemed to pick up where Kim had left off:

'_I wasn't too thrilled at having to help Indy clean up a mess he had made ten years before. But time was of the essence. Indy thought he knew someone who could help us, so our first stop was the University of Shanghai…_

* * *

"You haven't come to see me in six years, and now you want me to do you some sort of favor?" Despite the fact that the twenty-two-year-old man sitting across from her was scowling, Zim thought he was very handsome.

"I funded your education," Indy protested, a little annoyed, "What more did you want from me, Shorty?"

"Would you please stop calling me 'Shorty'?" The younger man practically barked.

"What is your real name?" Zim asked him in Chinese.

The young man turned to her and smiled, which only increased his good looks exponentially, "My given name is Wan Li. In my younger, stupider days, I decided I wanted a nickname like Dr. Jones has and he began calling me Short Round, or 'Shorty'…for short."

Zim giggled, it was the first such sound Indy had ever heard her make. He was annoyed that her mirth was directed at someone else.

"'Shorty for short'… that's cute. I am sorry if there is an unresolved history between you and Dr, Jones-"" Zim began.

"You could say that," Wan Li turned his attentions back to Indy, "He promised to take me back to America with him. Instead he sent me to a local boarding school."

"I had no legal guardian status over you, and I would not have been able to get you legally into the United States. I told you all this in my letters." Indy said hotly.

"Oh, it was all about 'legal' reasons." Li sniped, "This from the man who robs graves for a living. For Pete's sake, Six years ago, I helped you smuggle two full-sized Terra Cotta warriors out of this country. Don't try to tell me you couldn't have taken a sixteen-year-old kid along."

"And then what?" Indy snapped, "Leave you alone at my house while I was away all the time? What kind of childhood would that have been?"

"Probably a little better than trying to survive a months-long battle between the Chinese and Japanese armies. Having my school bombed out several times, and being pressed into service by the Army of the People's Republic." Wan Li practically shouted.

Indy immediately softened; his voice grew quiet, "You were forcibly drafted?"

"You'd know that if you had kept up correspondence." Li folded his arms across his chest and glared. "All you ever did was send money to the school, and then to the university."

"I actually had Marcus take care of that." Indy mumbled in reply.

Wan Li's reaction wasn't difficult to decipher. His mouth clamped shut and his jaw tightened, his eyes turned cold and hard. Zim was somewhat incredulous. So Indy hadn't had a personal hand in the boy's education, did he really need to tell him that? What purpose did such a harsh truth serve, especially since Wan Li was already upset.

"I'm sorry, Shorty."

"Don't call me SHORTY!"

For an instant, a complete silence descended on all those sitting at the outdoor tables at the Student Collective area, then normal conversation chatter resumed.

"We are sorry if we have upset you, Mr. Li." Zim said as consolingly as she could. "We simply came to ask you if you knew any information about a local mafia figure known as Lao Che. We'll leave you alone now."

"Lao Che?" Wan Li looked intently at Zim, then back to Indy, "What have you done now?"

"You know him?" Zim had stood up but now resumed her seat. "You know Lao Che?"

"He killed a friend of ours," Li said nodding at Indy, "Dr. Jones was trying to sell the ashes of a Chinese emperor for a diamond and the transaction went bad. The man he killed was named Wu Han, he kind of kept an eye on me during my younger years. Che tried to have us killed as well."

"Yes?" Zim leaned forward with some interest, "Did Dr. Jones go back on a promise to take him to America too?"

Wan Li laughed out loud, then looked at Indy, "Oh, I like her. Are you two…?"

Zim stared at Li for a second, then tried to hide the horrified expression on her face, "Certainly not, Mr. Li."

"Please," Li leaned forward with a smile, "Call me Shorty."

"We are most certainly not… _anything _like you might be implying." Zim said a little too insistently.

"Yeah, well, watch out for this one," Shorty said with a wink, "It seems to happen to him a lot."

"Can we please talk about something else?" Indy looked extremely uncomfortable.

"A lot? Really?" Zim was openly incredulous.

"You don't have to act so surprised," Indy began to turn red, "I'm as human as the next man."

"I wouldn't be surprised if, for a lot of women, you were the _last_ man." Zim quipped.

Shorty burst out laughing again, "Oh, I _really_ like her. It is a genuine pleasure to know you Lieutenant-"

"You can call me Zim," She replied with a smile.

""'Zim'. Most of what I know about Lao Che is common knowledge in Shanghai. He began with a small club more than ten years ago, somehow managed to survive the bombings and the invasion of the Japanese and come out wealthier on the other side. There were rumors that he thrived in the black market, selling whatever he could to anyone, including the Japanese. His club has grown into what is now known as the Obi Wan Casino, a large hotel and gaming complex in the Xau Nu district. He's very powerful, and very difficult to get to."

Zim nodded, "That's very helpful, Mr L- … Shorty. I think we've learned all that we are going to at this juncture. Thank you for your cooperation."

"You don't want me to help with this?" Shorty leaned forward with interest.

"It could be dangerous. I can't ask you to-"

Shorty threw a nod at Indy, "He had no problem putting me in dangerous situations when I was eleven. Let me help. I know several styles of Kung Fu."

"Oh yes?" Zim asked with interest, "Which? I've been trained in Pang Lan Xuan."

Shorty's mouth dropped open, "You're a Pang Lan Xaun master?"

"I never attained the status of 'master'," Zim explained, "But I did develop a few skills. What about you?"

"I know the Mantis style, Eagle Fist, a little Jeet Kun Do, and Drunken Boxing." Shorty explained.

"I'm impressed," Zim whistled, "If you'd be willing, we could definitely use your help. Couldn't we, Dr. Jones?"

"Of course!" Indy tried to smile broadly, as though his lopsided grin would make everything all right.

"I'm going to contact the U.S. Consulate here in Shanghai," Zim said to both of them, "See if they can get us any information. Then Mr. Li and I will go to the Obi Wan Casino and do some cursory reconnaissance tomorrow."

"I'm not going?" Indy asked a little confused.

"You've seen Lao Che face to face?"

"Yes," Indy answered.

"And he tried to kill you?"

"Yes."

"Then you're not going." Zim said simply, "I can't risk the possibility that you'll be recognized."

And that was the end of the discussion. She made quick plans to meet up with Shorty the following day, told the young man goodbye, then simply got up to leave. She didn't necessarily mean to be so rude to Indy, but right at the tail end of the conversation, she began to wonder if the Russians or this Nazi splinter group were already on their trail and just how close were they getting?

* * *

He hated the heat, almost as much as he hated the humidity. It didn't help that his larger-than-average frame soaked up the humidity and oozed it back into the air through his pores. It also didn't help that he preferred to wear his full dress uniform, even during the hotter hours of the day.

The others didn't wear theirs, but he tolerated that. This was not the time for decorum. He liked to wear his uniform because he'd had little chance to do so in the last thirteen years.

Always in the shadows had he crept, playing his part perfectly. So perfect in fact, that he was still playing it just recently. That was important. Everything was important.

During the war, Friedrich Bader had been a Brigadefuhrer for the Gestapo. He loved his rank, loved his duties, loved his country…. loved the Fuhrer; loved him with an almost unnatural passion. Adolph Hitler was a god incarnate to Bader. He had actually met Der Fuhrer once, in 1935, as he was being commissioned for his long-term assignment. And as much as he had tried to keep his decorum about him, he actually broke down and wept in front of the Chancellor. Wept at the sheer beauty of the moment. Here was the man who had written the poetic prose of 'Mein Kampf', the man who would bring about the utopian ideals of the fatherland. He had wept and he was ashamed. But somehow Adolph seemed to understand. Bader had sunk to his knees upon shaking the hands of the man with the short moustache and cold, hard eyes. But he soon found himself being lifted to his feet. And when he looked into those eyes, he saw a soul; a soul that was beautiful to him.

"Why do you weep?" Adolph asked quietly. The others in the room seemed to have grown uncomfortable at the sight of the weeping man. But they didn't understand. The Fuhrer did.

"The sheer beauty," Bader choked back his sobs, "You are the true master of the fatherland."

"What would you do for me, for Germany?"

"Give my life." Bader said firmly.

"That would be a waste." Adolph said quietly but firmly, "For such loyalty, one must live. If the fatherland is to realize its true destiny, I need men like you to give of themselves wholly."

"Then I do," Bader said, again trying to choke back tears. He wanted to tell the Chancellor that he loved him… that he worshipped him.

"Excellent." Adolph said simply. "You will be away from the fatherland for many years. But in all things, you will be helping your Fuhrer bring about the cleansing of the earth. You will do this for me?"

"Yes," Bader could no longer hold back the sobs, "I will do this for you."

"Good." Hitler clapped him on the back like a school chum, "Always remember that your fatherland needs you. Perform your duties, and you will be greatly rewarded."

"Ja wol, mein Fuhrer," Bader said firmly, proudly.

He was sent forth, Adolph's words ringing in his ear every day, for all the long years he had been away from the Germany, away from his people, away from the front lines of the war. Slinking in the shadows, pretending, waiting.

The day he learned his Fuhrer had killed himself was the darkest day he could remember. He raged, broke furniture, took his anger out on his wife. Nothing would sate his dismay, his despair. There was no hope left.

But then one day, word of a discovery. An idol that could literally control the power of time itself. If such a prize could be located and utilized… just the very idea of resurrecting Adolph Hitler – by traveling back in time and preventing him from killing himself, or better yet, traveling back with a weapon of great power, and presenting it to the Fuhrer as a gift. Yes. Such a talisman had to exist, and must be located.

He would find a weapon that would conquer all with one stroke; establish the fatherland as the Utopia it was meant to be, put Adolph on a throne that straddled the hemispheres, and cleanse the earth of the filthy, inferior races.

That was the one passion he shared most deeply with Hitler; the need for the earth to be cleansed of the Jew, and the African, and the Arab. But particularly the Jew. Oh how he hated them. They had won their war, controlling the greatest powers – the U.S. and Russia – and manipulating them into forming an alliance. The Jew was cunning, scheming, deviant. But he was not strong. He was not of the superior race.

Yes. Find the talisman, return to the glory days of the Reich, and cleanse the earth completely of the infestation of the Jew. Sometimes just the idea that so many Jews still walked the earth, despite the Reich's best efforts to eliminate them, drove him to bouts of rage. And in the heat and humidity of Central Argentina, rage tended to drive up the blood pressure. He had ways of dealing with it, though.

Only one person could find this Tempus Simia. Only one person had the kind of talent and tenacity to-

"Herr Reichsfuhrer," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Report, Hauptmansfuhrer," Bader barked, angry at the interruption.

"Your contact has reported in. Herr Jones and the U.S. Agent are currently in Shanghai. They proceeded from Russia to a monastery north of Shanghai and are currently in the city itself. It is not believed that they have taken possession of the talisman we are looking for."

"What is the reason for their being in Shanghai?" Bader demanded.

"Unknown at this point. They've made some inquiries about a local gangster there, and the Agent, as well as a young Chinese man visited a local casino yesterday."

"A casino?" Bader was confused.

"We are looking into it, Herr Reichsfuhrer."

Bader insisted they address him by his new rank. He may not enforce the uniform code in these warm climes but he certainly wasn't going to allow a sense of familiarity to descend on the camp. Though they were barely two hundred strong, they were growing every day. Discipline had to be maintained.

"Keep me informed," Bader seethed. He had been hoping there would be more concrete developments. This was not progressing as fast as he wanted it to.

His fists began to shake uncontrollably. His blood pressure began to rise.

"Mein Herr?" The Captain who had just given report was concerned.

"Do not speak to me," Bader growled, trying to control the rage within.

The captain took a couple of steps toward him. As much as Bader admired and worshipped Adolph Hitler, Hauptmansfuhrer (Captain) Demends worshipped and admired Friedrich Bader. He was a loyal assistant, and often knew just how to calm Bader's rage. He stepped closer to his superior officer and began whispering in his ear.

Bader closed his eyes and listened.

"_Soon, all our victories will be within reach. Soon we will alter the course of history. Soon we will cleanse the earth of the inferior races. Soon, theinferior raceswill be wiped completely from existence."_

When he opened them again, his rage was gone. His captain always knew just the right thing to make him feel better.

"Thank you Hauptmansuhrer Demends. Your words were most soothing. How are your wife and son? Have you heard from them recently?"

"I have received a letter," Demends confirmed, "They are still living on the family farm outside of Lubeck. My son grows taller and stronger every day. Even at his young age he wishes to help in our struggle to resurrect the fatherland."

"Good," Bader nodded with satisfaction, "It is good to see such zeal in youth. Your son will be very instrumental in leading the Reich into the future."

* * *

Try as he might, Indy could not wipe the scowl from his face. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was in charge. That was how it worked. Of course, most of the time he expected to be working alone and that rarely happened. But he had made almost no decisions in the last two days, despite the fact they were all here because of something he was supposed to retrieve.

As it turned out, Zim and Shorty had learned much on their initial trip to the Obi Wan Casino. Not only did Lao Che not make a secret of the fact that he had Nurhachi's ashes, but he kept them in a glass-encased shrine that was part of a massive display just inside the lobby of the casino. Rather than keep the urn in a vault, Lao enjoyed flaunting his prized possession, along with several other pieces of Chinese antiquity he had acquired. He felt they brought him good luck.

Not that Che was taking too many chances. There were three security officers stationed near the display at all times. Their sole duty was to protect the case, which stood about eight feet high, and was three by three feet on the remaining dimensions. The display was the only thing standing in the cavernous lobby, other than the guards of course. It had a domed roof and a slightly inclined floor leading into the main casino.

Just inside the casino floor were numerous card tables, as well as tables for dice, roulette, Pai Gow, and so forth. There weren't many slot machines largely because the only ones made in the world at that time were manufactured in the United States and they were fairly hard to come by. Still Che did have two or three rows of slots and every machine was always occupied.

But there were two very interesting discoveries made by Chorty and Zim on their initial trip to the casino. The first was the fact that the wait staff were largely Caucasian. Lao Che had flown in gentlemen from Hong Kong who had previously served as butlers or wait staff in that city. He felt it made his western guests feel more at home, and his Asian clientele feel more important and thus likely to spend more money to look even more important.

The other discovery was made almost completely by accident. On their way back out of the casino, Zim and Shorty noticed that rather than the security guards in the lobby taking a break, they were served their lunch by one of the waiters, and ate at their posts.

A plan formulated around that one important piece of information.

It was kept relatively simple. One of the team members would be disguised as a waiter, and serve the guards their lunch at the right time. Along with whatever they would be eating for lunch, a little bit of Iocane powder would be slipped into their drinks. Once the guards were incapacitated, the waiter would simply smash the case, grab the urn, and slip out to a waiting car; an untraceable auto that had been secured by the American Consulate at Zim's request..

Naturally, it fell to Indy as the most obvious choice to be the waiter, and that was why he was scowling. He was sure he looked ridiculous; black pants, white coat… an _apron!_ He felt bad for the unconscious waiter who was currently occupying a trash bin in the alley, but he couldn't help it.

In the meantime, Zim and Shorty would be causing a disturbance on the casino floor in order to toss up a diversion for the other guards. They would be posing as a couple on a date. Zim would get all dolled up to make use of her considerable beauty just to keep most of the eyes on her. And Shorty, at the appointed time, would do what he always did when he played poker:

He'd cheat.

Once caught, security would respond to the complaint from the pit boss. Zim would naturally turn on him and pretend to yell at him for embarrassing her, and the commotion would undoubtedly bring in more guards. But Nurhachi would be long gone by then, and Zim would allow herself and Shorty to be taken into the security office to be questioned. No doubt they would suspect her of being precisely what she was, the distraction, but there would be no way to prove that they were. A phone call from the American Embassy would have her and Shorty on the street soon enough.

The night before the intended heist, Zim took Shorty to a department store and purchased him a tuxedo. For herself, Zim bought a powder blue dress with spaghetti straps and black suede trim.

When she met Indy in the hotel lobby that afternoon, he actually had to tear his eyes away from her. She looked stunning. The dress complimented her form perfectly. Her hair was pulled back and then cascaded out into a gorgeous plume of soft brown. She had a silver choker around her neck, with matching silver arm band. But what really made her beauty stand out were her eyes. Something about them seemed to dance and smile and just plain sparkle. It was as though she looked beautiful because she _felt_ beautiful.

"What is it?" She asked him after he'd been staring a few seconds.

Indy nodded, "You just look incredible, that's all."

Zim's face softened and she offered him a half smile. Not much but there was a little genuine warmth there, "Thank you, Dr. Jones."

"You can call me Indiana, you know." He said quietly.

"I am aware of your adopted nickname," She turned her head away, "I prefer to keep our relationship on a professional level, and I would like to continue to address each other professionally."

"Of course." Indy responded forlornly.

Her face lit up when Shorty walked in, and that bothered Indy, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he was beginning to feel his age. Most of the time he certainly didn't feel like a man in his forties. It wasn't so much the years as it was the mileage. But seeing these two together; she was twenty-five and he was twenty-two, it was completely natural that they might gravitate toward each other. And why should he care anyway, he didn't even like her. He had paid her the compliment just so she might stop acting so snooty toward him.

It was then that he turned his eyes on Shorty, and mentally kicked himself for letting their relationship lapse in the last six years. He had grown into an impressive young man, but it was hard not to see the twelve-year-old kid who once followed him around like a puppy; the same kid who had saved his life on more than one occasion.

And he had to admit, Shorty looked good in a tux.

Zim strolled up to him with a cheerful greeting and slipped her arm through his. He smiled warmly and returned her salutations. They made a picture perfect couple. And something about it just bothered more than he was comfortable with.

"Hello, Indy," Shorty said turning to the older man.

"Glad one of you is willing to call em that. How you doing…uh…Wan?"

Shorty chuckled, "I'm in a good mood this evening. I have an intelligent, beautiful woman on my arm and an adventure ahead of me. So I'm going to let you slide and call me 'Shorty'… that's _my _professional name."

As though they were a couple who had been together for years, Zim and Shorty turned and made their way out through the hotel lobby to hail a cab. Indy waited the right amount of time, drove the car over to the Obi Wan Casino, and snuck in through the employee entrance, subduing a waiter who looked about his size.

Fortunately for Indy, there were so many waiters on duty no one really looked at him twice as long as he seemed to appear as though he knew what he was doing. That actually wasn't too difficult. He would run drinks out to the tables and deliver them to mildly surprised customers who hadn't ordered anything.

"Compliments of the house." Indy would mumble and scurry away. He kept his eyes open, and though he recognized one or two of Lao Che's henchmen, he never actually saw the boss himself.

Zim and Shorty were already settled in at one of the poker tables, and looked as though they were actually enjoying themselves. Again, Indy found himself mildly irked. Perhaps it was the fact that Shorty seemed to instantly charm her while he couldn't break through her icy walls. Her intentions with the dress were having the desired effect. Just about every male eye in the casino was on her. A couple of times, he caught her laughter ringing out above the noise of the casino floor. And once…

…well he almost couldn't help himself.

At one point, Indy glanced quickly over at the poker table and then at his watch. Just a few minutes now, he needed to get ready. But when he glanced back up at the table, Zim and Shorty were leaning in close to each other, appearing to have an intimate conversation. For Indy, enough was too much. He snatched up a tray with a single cocktail on it and scurried over, catching her attention out of the corner of her eye.

"Your drink, madam." Indy held the tray out, deliberately placing it between her and her companion. For his part, Shorty managed to contain most of his surprise. Indy wasn't supposed to be anywhere near them.

Zim turned around casually and gave Indy a disinterested look, "I didn't order this."

"Compliments of the gentleman at the next table." It might as well have been true, every gentleman at the next table was looking at her and smiling.

Zim slid her finger along the rim of the cocktail glass in a sultry fashion, "Please tell the gentleman I said 'thank you' but I am with someone tonight, and it would be rude of me to accept his drink."

Zim and Indy locked eyes for a brief second. For once he could see the message in them loud and clear; _what are you doing?_

"Very good madam," Indy bowed stiffly and returned to the kitchen feeling very foolish.

A simple query to the cook as to the whereabouts of the security guards' meal brought Indy to a tray set aside in the employee lunch room. He sprinkled the Iocane in each of the three drinks and then hoisted the tray, carrying it out through the casino and into the lobby.

Indy took a quick glance around and made his way to the first security post. Lowering the tray so the security guard could take his food. His eyes kept moving about the room when they should have been paying more attention to whom the food was being offered.

"Shen me shi?" A hauntingly familiar voice asked in surprised anger.

Startled, Indy looked directly into the face of the man who had been sitting at the first security station; the face of Lao Che.

* * *

"We're here," Wade's voice announced, interrupting Ron's reading. Since he had flown west, he had been chasing the sun as it made its way around the globe. But the afternoon waned and was beginning to turn into evening, which came early this far up north. Ron looked out the window and saw the coast of Greenland fast approaching.

"You sensing any kind of building or lair near the signal?" Ron asked

"Actually, it looks as though the signal is several miles off the coast." Wade answered, "I don't like this."

"Take me to it," Ron said firmly, "We'll deal with whatever we find."

The Ninjet swooped in low and began skimming across the surface of the North Atlantic, slowing as it got closer to where Wade was reading the signal. Ron turned on two exterior floodlights and spotted it almost immediately.

Kim's battlesuit was floating in the water.

Ron opened the door and leaned way out, snatching up the suit as soon as the aircraft was low enough, then closed the door again. Wade could see through the camera what Ron was seeing.

"She might still be alive." Wade said emphatically.

"She's alive," Ron said firmly, "This is another attempt to lead us off the trail. If they wanted to kill her, they would have just been done with it. We were supposed to chase this signal out here. But what I can't understand is why?"

"What do we do now?" Wade asked.

"Can you scan for residual pollutant trails or heat signatures left by aircraft?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Wade confirmed doubtfully, "But so many passenger aircraft fly through that area the sky is likely to be crisscrossed with trails."

"Scan them all, and see if any lead back toward Libya." Ron suggested.

"When did you get so smart?" Wade asked as he began making scans with a GJ satellite.

"I seem to have moments of inspiration where my wife's safety is concerned." Ron answered without hesitating. He very firmly believed that she brought it out in him.

"OK," Wade said after a few minutes, "I've got three residual heat signatures from jet propelled craft heading through that area that look as though they originated in either Libya or Morocco. But check this out…"

Wade put a satellite image up on the screen, three lines indicating aircraft flight paths crossed through the image. One of them was bent almost in a U-turn.

"That one!" Ron said pointing at the bent line, "The one that altered course. That's the one we want. Whoever they were, they came put here, tossed Kim's battlesuit, and took her somewhere else…"

"Course is laid in once again… but I'm not sure how far we'll be able to follow the trail. These energy signatures are already starting to fade."

"Then let's move!" Ron said with urgency… he hoped that wherever Kim was, she was all right…

* * *

Kim sat shivering, tied up and huddled under a blanket. It was freezing, despite the fact the heat was on. She wasn't sure where she was, but she guessed she was somewhere very cold, perhaps somewhere in the arctic.

She was wearing a pair of sport shorts and a sport top; something she always wore underneath her battlesuit. She'd gotten fairly nervous when they forcibly removed her suit, but calmed down when she realized their intentions did not involve an assault of some kind. She'd tried to escape several times, but they were in an aircraft high above the ocean; presumably the Atlantic. She was pretty sure she didn't have the skills to fly it. So she was forced to resign herself to her captivity, and realize that her escape attempt only made them watch her more carefully. She was bound hand and foot.

Eventually, she grew hungry, but they didn't feed her.

When they arrived at the presumed destination, several henchmen carried her through a very cold night and into a small building and then simply left her there.

Hours passed. She began to doze.

Then she was roused by strong hands that undid her bindings. As soon as she was free, she scrambled for the door. Three henchmen barred her way.

"If you're looking to escape on foot," said a familiar voice, "The tundra is three weeks in every direction."

Kim turned around to see Bill Locke standing a few feet away, calmly regarding her nearly naked form.

"But please," Locked indicated a table with several plates of food sitting on it, "Eat something."

Kim hesitated, threw a defiant look at Locke, then moved to the table and began eating hungrily.

"I must apologize for their treatment of you," Locked reached down and tenderly stroked her arm. It made Kim's skin crawl.

"Yeah," Kim said with a mouthful of food, "Whose idea was this? No food, no water. What kind of people are you?"

"What, these?" Locke indicated the henchmen, "They aren't mine, I assure you. But at this particular time and place, for my work, they are necessary evils."

Kim buttered a piece of bread, looked around quickly, then cleaned off the butter knife and slid it inside her shorts, up the outer right thigh. Locke seemed to be rummaging around in a dark corner of the room.

"However," Locke came over to the table and sat down, "Even in this part of the world we are not entirely uncivilized."

He had a box in his lap. From that box he held up what was clearly a short, slinky black dress.

Kim guffawed with contempt, "A little slutty, don't you think?"

"I would very much like to see you in it." Locke said looking at her with a very hungry expression on his face.

"Oh, I bet you would." Kim said around a mouthful of food. Then she seemed to change her mind. She stood up, snatched the little black dress from Locke and began moving toward the dark corner calling back, "Do you have anything to drink around here?"

Locke stared at her, leered at her, lusted for her. Of all the things that belonged to his arch rival, she was what he wanted the most. He roused himself and began looking around for a bottle of something… anything.

"We do not have much time," he called out as he looked around, "Soon they will come to harm you, and I will be able to do nothing to stop them, unless you give me something to placate them."

Kim had taken off her sport top and though she was facing away from Locke, he stared at her anyway. In the dimly lit corner, she had her back to him. But the fact that this particular back was completely bare occupied all of his thoughts at that moment. He roused himself once again when she pulled the dress over her head.

"…some piece of information they can use, so that I can protect you." Locke finished speaking as he sat back down at the table again.

"I don't know what it is I can tell you," Kim said, "I have no idea what it is you want to know."

She stepped back out into the light, the dress hugging every line and curve of her slender form. Her hair had been in a tight ponytail, but she'd pulled it out and fluffed it so that it was a radiant auburn fountain of beauty. She took a couple of steps toward him and turned all the way around, showing him everything he wanted to see; the back of the dress plunged all the way to the small of her back.

Locke could barely find the words, "Kim, you are beautiful."

She smiled while inwardly she fought to keep the food she had just eaten from coming back up her esophagus.

"I don't think we need the chaperones." Kim said breathily.

Locke threw a dismissive wave at the guards who stepped out of the building and left them alone.

An hour later, both Kim and Locke were laughing and drinking… and laughing. Both seemed to be pretty well intoxicated, and once or twice, when Kim tried to pour another drink, she would miss the cup altogether.

"Having problems with your aim?" Locke asked with a drunken chuckle.

"Mr. Locke," Kim giggled with mock indignity, "I believe you have been trying to get me schwasted… schwasted… schwas… I can't even pronounce it!"

They both burst out laughing. Then Kim suddenly lunged for the bundle of underclothes she had put on the table and pulled out the butter knife, brandishing it menacingly.

Locke stared at her for two seconds, and then burst out laughing once again.

Kim laughed with him, "Well, I must be going now, William."

Locke continued to laugh and gave her a dismissive wave.

"I had a lovely time, though." Kim giggled.

Locke's eyes looked past her and suddenly his face took on a very serious expression.

Kim turned around and made to bolt for the door. But someone was standing there. He caught her by the wrist and twisted slightly, forcing her to drop the knife.

"We meet again Kim Possible," he said in a thick German accent. He looked her up and down, "You Americans, you are all the same. Always overdressing for the wrong occasions."

He let go of Kim's wrist and she backed up a few paces, shocked and surprised to see the face staring back at hers.

It was Professor Dementor.

_Come on, Ron, _Kim thought frantically, _Where are you?_

* * *

"Ron?"

"What's up, Wade?"

"Not sure yet. I just got this from GJ. A missing persons report has been filed in Florida for a Dr. Henry Jones Jr. It seems he never arrived home from the funeral."

"You're kidding… you know, Locke said something about… no, I can't deal with that now. One thing at a time."

"I understand. How goes the reading?"

"It keeps me from worrying about my wife while I'm flying around chasing vapor trails."

"Maybe you'll find a clue in that journal as to why Dr. Jones has gone missing."

"Maybe…"

* * *

Sometimes, though he was the owner of the casino, he liked to sit at one of the security stations so he could greet his guests as they came through the lobby. It gave him an air of magnanimousness.

Indiana Jones and Lao Che stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

"Jones?" Che finally spoke with a tone of incredulity, and then fury, "DR. JONES?"

Indy forced himself to move. Lunging forward and grabbing Lao Che by the shirt collar, he pulled the other man forward roughly, spun slightly and sent the gangster crashing head first into the display case. Without hesitating, Indy reached into the case and snatched the jade urn containing Nurhachi's ashes, making sure its lid was secure before placing it into the satchel he had hidden under his coat.

He sprinted for the front doors.

Alarms went off, clanging like the bells at a firehouse. Then three metallic crashes echoed through the cavernous lobby. Heavy iron doors slid into place over the exits, completely cutting off his escape; security measures activated by one of the other security guards. Indy skidded to a halt and turned to face them. He held up his hands and grinned sheepishly, like a schoolboy who's been caught stealing the milk money.

They stepped forward to take him into custody. Indy moved quickly toward the guard on the left and drove his right fist into the face of his would-be captor, then spun to his left and with his south paw, backhanded the other guard as the first one hit the floor hard. The second guard was driven back a few paces. Indy followed up with a solid left to the abdomen and a hard right uppercut as the guard doubled over. The uppercut lifted the thug from his feet and sent him sprawling. Indy didn't wait, but sprinted through the lobby and into the casino.

"Shorty!" He shouted, "Lieutenant! We've got problems!"

There was already a flurry of activity in the casino. The instant Indy went into the lobby with the food tray, Shorty allowed himself to get caught cheating at poker. He practically had to show the dimwitted card dealer the ace in his sleeve before anyone reacted. But once the alarms went off, all hell broke loose. Guards began pouring out of every available door; most of them armed. Shorty was taken into custody, though Zim was simply left alone. The guards all began to assume the alarms were about Shorty's cheating until Indy burst into the casino.

Distracted by Indy's shouting, the guards holding Shorty looked in the direction of the lobby. Shorty immediately began flailing his elbows and shook them loose from the grip of his captors. He pivoted on his left foot and brought his right up in a roundhouse that caught the guard on his right square on the chin. Now his back was to the guard that had been on his left, but rather than turning, Shorty simply took two steps backward and brought his elbow up and around to his right, cracking the guard in the jaw, then followed up with a left fist to the temple that put the guard on the floor. Shorty backed off from the others who were still momentarily distracted, but were now turning to face him. He moved back until he was within the ring of tables that formed the first pit.

Indy spotted him and sprinted over, shoving his way through the chaos of the moving crowd and fighting through two guards. He wound up in the pit (which, if you don't know anything about casinos, is simply that space inside the ring of gaming tables where only the dealers and pit bosses can go) near Shorty and moved over next to him.

The crowd was now almost in a full panic. Screaming and yelling, they scrambled to get to the exits, not knowing they were blocked. The armed guards were prevented from firing their weapons simply by the panic and confusion of the crowd. They didn't yet know who was an enemy and who wasn't. In that confusion, Zim found her way into the pit with the other two and took up a combat stance facing away from Indy and Shorty. She hadn't intended on doing any fighting in this dress.

Following her example, Indy and Shorty took up stances, the three of them back to back, facing different directions, and ready to fight their way out.

"Why didn't you stick to the plan?" Zim asked over her shoulder.

"I couldn't," Indy answered, "I ran into an old friend. While we were talking, one of the guards must have triggered some kind of security measure. We won't be able to get out through the front doors.

In a few seconds, word passed through the ranks of guards that these three might be the cause of all the trouble. Slowly, the small army began to surround the pit. Indy didn't see any escape from his vantage point. He asked for an assessment from one of his younger partners.

"How we doing, Shorty?"

"Same as always." Shorty answered.

"That bad, huh?"

Guards continued to surround them. All the exits that weren't sealed were choked with civilians and security.

"Well, Dr. Jones?" Zim asked grimly, "I don't suppose you've come up with a new plan?"

"As a matter of fact," Indy said over his shoulder while still scanning the room, looking for an opportunity for the three of them to escape, "I'm making this up as I go."

They were now completely surrounded, though the guards were unsure of what to do next. There didn't seem to be anyone calling for orders.

Then, a bloody face appeared at the doors to the lobby. Lao Che was most displeased.

"KILL THEM!" He screamed, "KILL THEM ALL!"

Every guard that was armed raised his weapon and fired.


	5. UnStoppable

Author's sheepish apology: OK, I know I said every two weeks and it's actually been, what, a month? Anyway, really sorry, I had the Olympics (I am a Winter Olympics junkie so I didn't write at all during those 16 days) and then I was out of town and there were Distractions and blah blah blah… So anyway, now I can firmly say without hesitation or fear of going back on my word that updates will definitely happen… when I can write them.

Thanks everyone who is reading, especially those who haven't given up on this story. I can at least promise that I will finish it. That will definitely happen.

Thanks especially to the reviewers: Commander Argus, Zaratan, JPMod, Seamus Dubh, Muttly, Augusta, Triaxx2, MrDrP, Ezbok58a, Puppyface, Pseudojuliet, whitem, Nickel Hound (twice), jasminevr, Pwn Master Paladin, Ace Ian Combat, Lydia King, Widow Shark, Spectre66, Brother To Vorlons, Manchester Black, AeroTendo, and Merrypaws.

"Calling Dr. Jones, Dr. Jones…"

* * *

Chapter 5. UnStoppable

* * *

Zim moved first.

She lunged forward while the room filled with the deafening staccato of small arms fire. Bullets seared through the air past her head or embedded themselves in the surrounding floor and furniture. She took hold of the nearby gaming table and pulled it toward her, upending it and turning it into a barrier of sorts.

Shorty and Indy followed her example. They managed to upend four tables which bought them a few seconds at most as they crouched behind the barriers and threw worried glances at each other.

Clearly the situation was hopeless. The only reason they weren't dead right now was because most of the guards weren't sure who "they" were when Lao Che ordered "them" to be killed. As a result, half the guards had no idea what they were supposed to be shooting at, and simply fired in the general direction their comrades were pointing their guns.

It wouldn't take long for everyone to realize who the intended targets were and then they would simply advance on the tiny improvised fortress and eliminate Indy and his companions.

For a few seconds, all went silent but for the screams of the civilians. Lao Che re-issued orders for his men to move in on the upturned tables and kill those in hiding. It would be all over in a few seconds. The firing resumed and this time, hundreds of bullets began thudding into the tables, shredding and chewing up the wood, or sizzling through the air above their heads.

Indy quickly scrambled out of his waiter's jacket, slid the strap of his satchel off his arm and held the bag aloft, above the rim of the overturned card table. Several bullets ripped through it before Che realized what it was and screamed for the guards to stop firing. No one could hear him, so he ascended the three steps that led up from the gaming floor to the front lobby and drew his pistol, firing into the air. That caught the guards' attention. The shooting stopped after a few seconds.

Indy slowly stood up with his hands raised in the air.

"What are you doing?" Zim hissed, crouched behind a table.

"This is my mess," Indy said quietly, never taking his eyes off Lao, "It's time I helped clean it up."

Zim looked at Shorty who shrugged in return, he didn't know what Indy was up to either.

"I've got Nurhachi in here, Lao," Indy said loud enough for everyone on the gaming floor to hear. "If you want him back, you'll have to let my friends go."

The gangster glared at Indy furiously; the notorious archeologist had destroyed a good portion of his club ten years ago, now a fair amount of the casino had been damaged, not to mention the blow to his pride at discovering Indy had somehow managed to escape the fate Che intended for him so long ago. All he wanted was his prize returned, and Indiana Jones dead at his feet.

"As you wish." Lao Che fumed, "Return Nurhachi to me and your two companions will be free to leave."

Indy forced a chuckle, he slid his hand inside the satchel as he grinned widely at the gangster, "No deal, Lao. They go free and then you can have me and Nurhachi. Tell you what, I'll come half the distance toward you as a show of good faith. Once my friends are away, then I'll surrender to you."

Lao Che clenched his jaw and could only nod. He tucked his pistol back into his belt and waited for the archeologist to step forward.

Indy felt around in his satchel for the urn and his hand touched something else, something he'd forgotten was in there. He hesitated and looked down at Shorty who was looking back up at him expectantly, waiting for the man to somehow get them out of another mess.

But in his eyes, Shorty saw the possibility that maybe there was no way out. Or had that slight look of anxiety always been there and he hadn't noticed before? It was possible that the man Shorty had idolized as a child was always frightened to some degree, but managed to overcome that fear somehow and find a way out of one sticky situation after another. Shorty suddenly found himself missing the feelings he had for Indy when he was young. Growing up meant realizing that even your heroes had flaws; they could feel fear, or even forget you existed. But Shorty saw in those eyes something else… regret?

"Um…" Indy hesitated uncomfortably, looking down at him, "In case I don't walk away from this, I wanted to… that is, I mean… I was thinking a lot yesterday about how I left you in Shanghai… I was at a gift shop down the street from the hotel while you two were here having a look at this place-"

"I am waiting, Dr. Jones!" Lao Che bellowed.

"In a second!" Indy snapped, then looked back down at Shorty, "I'm sorry… Wan Li… I guess I wasn't any better of a father to you than mine was to me."

Indy withdrew his hand from the satchel and dropped an item into Shorty's lap, then he turned and began to walk toward Lao.

"You realize what he's going to do, right?" Zim hissed again, "He'll kill you, then kill us afterward."

"That's why I didn't have a problem lying to him just now." Indy said with a quick glance and a wink in Zim's direction, then he stepped beyond the protective barrier.

Zim looked back at Shorty, but Shorty was clutching the item Indy has just given him, an odd look of emotion on his face. She looked at the item in question. Cheap knockoff though it was, it was a black and white pinstriped New York Yankees baseball cap, presumably bought at the gift shop Indy had just mentioned.

Zim ignored that for the time being and concentrated on what Indy had just said. What had he lied to Lao about? Then it dawned on her: everything. He'd just bought them a few extra seconds and expected her to come up with something. Later on she would marvel at how much she'd understood what he meant, as though most of what he'd communicated was more through thought than spoken word.

Indy continued to walk toward Lao, every single eye in the casino was on him, every weapon trained in his direction as he walked slowly forward. But he didn't stop halfway toward the gangster. He continued to move toward Lao, his hand in the satchel, threatening to destroy Che's most prized possession.

Lao almost chuckled in self-satisfaction. Clearly Indy had taken him at his word and decided to just surrender himself, believing he would allow the archeologist's companions to simply go free. Indiana Jones must not be much of a poker player. He hadn't picked up on Lao's bluff. Indy was only a few feet away from him now. Proud and arrogant, Lao looked down at his defeated foe. All the embarrassment, all the lost face that he had to endure because of this man; ten years worth of hatred was about to-

_Was he smiling?_

Lao gazed intently at Jones as he approached. It wasn't a large, lopsided grin, but more of a Mona Lisa smile, a bare hint of smirk that shone more in his eyes than on his face.

It was then Lao realized three things at once.

First, he was keenly aware that all his guards' attention was directed solely at the archeologist. No one was looking at his two companions.

Second, movement in the corner of his eye. Lao looked up and saw everything as though it were happening slower than actual reality. At first, it almost seemed to appear that Indiana Jones had two avenging angels hovering near either of his shoulders, both with masks of fierce determination and fury on their faces. But that was only for an instant, because those angels were flying… straight at him. No one had noticed until too late the young man and woman stand up from behind their improvised barriers and break into a full run toward Indy. And everyone was still in the initial stages of amazement an instant later when that young man and that young woman vaulted themselves off nearby chairs and leaped into the air, one leg each extended in textbook-perfect flying kicks, their other legs tucked up neatly beneath them. What Lao saw, and had no time to react to, was Zim on Indy's right and Shorty on his left come flying up over the rogue archeologist's shoulders – Zim's dress almost gracefully billowing around her – and barreling into him with the full force of their feet. In an abstract part of his mind, Lao thought what he had just seen was almost a thing of beauty.

The third thing Lao Che realized right before he was driven to the floor in a breathless heap was that he had just been bluffed in his own casino, and the house was about to lose.

Zim came up with a wheezing Lao Che, his own pistol taken from him and pointed at his temple. Her free hand had a death grip at the gangster's throat, allowing just enough air through for Lao to stay conscious.

From the instant Zim and Shorty stood up to the point where she was holding Lao Che as a hostage took less than five seconds, and none of the guards managed to get off a single shot.

"The first person who fires will be responsible for Lao's execution!" Zim shouted in Mandarin. The guards stood frozen.

"How do we undo the security measures at the front entrance?" Indy seethed as he leaned close to Lao's face.

Lao wheezed out a chuckle, "It takes several hours to reset those measures. And every first floor entrance is blocked by a heavy iron door. You will not get out of here alive."

Indy looked from Zim to Shorty, who was now wearing the ball cap. He couldn't help a small grin.

"First floor." Shorty said to Indy in English.

"Huh?" Indy asked.

"He said 'every first floor entrance'," Shorty repeated.

"Right." Indy nodded with realization, "We go up to get out. But where…?"

"There." Shorty said as he looked around the casino floor. On the far side was the hotel lobby and a grand staircase going up.

Indy put the satchel around his shoulder once more, and calmly walked over to the nearest guard, tearing his weapon from his grasp. It was a Thompson style submachine gun, the same type seen on the streets of Chicago during the prohibition era. He cocked the weapon and walked back over to Lao.

"Where's the floor vault?" Indy asked Lao in Mandarin.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Lao croaked in English, then grunted as Zim's grip on his throat tightened, sending waves of pain all through him.

"Answer his question," Zim hissed in Mandarin, "And if I think you are not being truthful with us, I will give you pain that will make you squeal like a small girl in front of your men."

Lao knew instinctively _she_ wasn't bluffing.

"The main cashier's cage." Lao croaked once more, and then pointed across the casino.

Indy nodded, then turned to Shorty, "Start collecting weapons, and bring them over to the main cage. Anyone resists, deal with them or holler, and I'll come take care of it." Indy said this very loudly in Mandarin so the guards closest to them could hear.

Shorty nodded and began taking Tommy guns and pistols from the guards. As he did this, Zim and Indy slowly made their way with their hostage toward the cashier's cage. None of the guards tried anything. Zim convinced Lao to order everyone to lower their weapons. Shorty met them at the cage with an armload of firepower. Indy stood guard while Zim handed the pistol to him, then fished Lao's keys out of his pocket. She never took her vice grip away from his throat.

Once the cage was opened, the three of them stepped inside. If you've never seen a cashier's cage in a casino (especially in Shanghai in the 1940's), this one had a large wooden counter that faced the casino floor on three sides while the fourth side was simply a wall. The counter was mostly chest high to Indy, but lowered in several places to allow casino customers to cash ships or make change, etc. From the top of the counter to the ceiling was an iron mesh that kept everyone else out and employees and money in.

"I will not tell you the combination," Lao said defiantly.

Indy smirked, "Never assume the other player has a worse hand than yours, Lao. As a casino owner you should know better."

Indy moved around the inside of the cage until he found what he was looking for; a small drawer in the rear wall that tilted outward. The floor vault Indy was talking about was actually a very secure room in the basement of the building. This was the counting room, where the day's receipts were counted by hand and totaled up. The drawer was actually a drop slot that opened to a small chute that led down to the counting room. This allowed the cashier's to keep as little money as was needed in the cage, thus discouraging would-be thieves from trying anything. Whenever enough cash was collected through transactions, it was securely bagged and put into the chute where it would tumble down to the counting room and be tallied.

Indy pulled out the drawer and then nodded to Shorty, "In here."

Shorty walked over with the weapons and began depositing them into the chute where they tumbled noisily into the counting room below.

"I have people down there." Lao Che fumed, "They will simply bring up the weapons and give them back to my men."

Indy was about to answer him, but Zim couldn't resist, having figured out Indy's plan, "I think Dr. Jones has probably guessed that the same heavy security measures you have on the front doors of the lobby are doubly in place around the room below."

Lao said nothing, but his jaw clenched visibly.

"Indy was right," Zim smirked, "You _are_ a terrible bluffer."

While Shorty continued to dump weapons down the chute, Indy gave her a look with a raised eyebrow. The he grinned, "Did you just call me 'Indy'?"

Zim couldn't believe how profusely she was blushing, "I… well, isn't that what people call you?"

Shorty dumped the last pistol into the drawer and turned around. He's heard everything they said, of course, and could help rolling his eyes, "Oh, here we go. Trust me, Lieutenant, for your sake, you better call him Dr. Jones."

Shorty looked at Indy and narrowed his eyes.

"What?" Indy protested, "I didn't do anything."

"That's just it." Shorty miffed as Indy followed him out of the cage to collect more weapons, "You do this without even trying. You charm people, get them to like you."

"I said I was sorry," Indy said, realizing Shorty wasn't talking about Zim anymore.

"Yeah? Well that and a Yankees cap doesn't exactly make up for the last six years." Shorty collected weapons while Indy kept a wary eye on the guards. Indy made every guard file past them and dump their weapons in a pile, then had them move to the far side of the casino floor and get down on their stomachs. Shorty ferried the pile of firearms to the chute an armload at a time and deposited them. Some of them went off when they hit the floor below, startling everyone whenever it happened.

The two men talked while they worked.

"I wasn't trying to make up for anything with the cap. I just bought it because it reminded me of better times between us."

"Pretty sad when shootouts in the streets of Shanghai or a near-death ride in a mine cart can be construed as 'better times'."

The two men continued to talk as they collected weapons. Zim was busy with her own thoughts. She was trying to pinpoint just exactly where Indy had gotten her to let down her emotional guard and call him by a familiar name rather than the professional monikers she insisted they use with each other. She was flustered, and the idea of being flustered by this man flustered her even further.

Without being aware of it, her grip on Lao relaxed slightly.

Shorty dropped two more armloads down the chute, then he and Indy did a quick search around the room to make sure no one had stashed any weapons. They found a few that some of the guards had tried to keep hidden. Indy followed Shorty back to the cage with the last of the guns.

They were halfway across the casino floor when all hell broke loose.

Lao had finally seen an opportunity and threw an elbow back into Zim's face. She'd been too distracted and took the full force of the blow which caused her to release her grip and drive her back a few steps. Indy had never given her back the pistol. Zim went down into a crouch, her left fist coming up defensively, expecting a follow-up attack from Lao, her dress billowed and furled around her. Lao hesitated a second which gave Zim time to move.

The guards nearest the cage had seen what happened and began to scramble to their feet, hoping to take Zim hostage and force Indy to give up his weapons. Zim saw them moving and launched herself forward, swiveling in the air, bringing her feet up to thud into Lao who had stepped back when she moved at him. Lao was driven backward at a slight angle and hit the narrow end of the open cage door; it swung partially closed. Zim followed up, shoving Lao against the cage door and slamming it shut, keeping the guards outside.

Gunfire erupted on the other side of the casino.

Distracted by what was happening at the cage, Shorty and Indy were caught unawares when three guards lunged at the younger man, knocking Shorty's armload of weapons into the air and scattering them. Indy raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. Shorty's attackers backed off in fear, but there was no gunfire. The notoriously unreliable Thompson machine gun had a bullet lodged in the chamber. It was jammed. Indy frantically worked the sliding lever on the side of the weapon to clear the round while he backed off a few paces to put some distance between himself and the guards.

Other guards began scrambling for the dropped weapons.

"Shorty, get back here!" Indy barked as he slid the lever back and forth on the side of the weapon.

The younger man scrambled backwards toward Indy as the guards began to hesitantly advance on them. Then a few stepped forward with their retrieved weapons and fired. Indy and Shorty dove behind the upturned tables and found themselves back in their improvised fortress once more as bullets slammed into the tables or hissed over their heads.

Indy continued to try to clear the round, then stopped, seeming to think of something. He looked at Shorty.

"What?" the younger man asked.

Indy took the pistol from his belt, hesitated, then handed it over, "You know how to fire this?"

"If it involves more than pulling the trigger, then no." Shorty said quickly.

Indy grinned, "I guess that's enough to know for now. We wanna take out the guys with the guns."

As he spoke, the lever finally pulled all the way back and the round was ejected from the chamber.

"OK, we're just going to pop up quickly over this table and fire. You ready?"

"No, but we better do it now before I get scared."

"'Before you get scared'? I'm already scared." Indy said in a reassuring tone.

Shorty seemed to suddenly forget the world around him and peered closely at the older man, "You really are, aren't you? Has it always been like this?"

"Every time I get into one of these scrapes, yeah." Indy answered.

"But you never look like it, never act like it-"

"Doesn't mean I don't feel it. Trick is, not to let it take over, shut you down; and don't let the other guy see it. They see your fear, they'll know they have you." Indy said with a forced grin, "But don't ignore the fear either. That's what keeps you from doing something stupid and foolhardy."

"Oh, so you really _don't_ get scared that much." Shorty quipped with a grin.

"Nice." Indy said sarcastically and raised himself to his knees as Shorty did the same. Their weapons came up over the lip of the upturned table and blazed away.

As predicted, the guards with the weapons were in the front ranks, and though they returned fire, they were too frightened to aim correctly. All but one of them went down, but neither Indy nor Shorty was positive which of them had hit their targets. What they both knew for sure was that they were out of ammunition when they ducked back below the rim of the table.

"Anyone else who touches a gun will get the same!" Indy bellowed in Mandarin, then gave Shorty a 'hope they fall for it' look.

The guards were talking to each other but neither man could quite make out what they were saying.

Meanwhile, Zim had subdued Lao Che but things weren't going as they had before.

"Order your men to cease their attack," she whispered, her hand once more at his throat.

"No." Che said defiantly, "You no longer have my pistol with you. You may be able to kill me with your bare hands, but once I am dead, you will be trapped in this cage, and my men will eliminate you. I was willing to cooperate as long as you had an escape route, but you have sealed yourself in here. You will not leave my casino alive."

Zim ignored him and looked out to the casino floor. There were probably some fifteen to twenty security guards out there, their attention divided between the cage and the upturned tables on the other side of the room. She was separated from her two companions and now that there had been a gun battle, they might not even be alive. Just that possibility made Zim suddenly feel alone.

"Well," Indy turned to Shorty after taking a good look around for any more weapons, "We can't just sit here all day, eventually they're gonna come for us."

Shorty nodded, and though he was frightened, he was also feeling strangely at home. Indiana Jones and Short Round were in a tight spot once more. It felt almost nostalgic.

"No fortune and glory this time." Shorty said quietly.

"More like 'Death or Glory'." Indy mused, "But going out fighting is preferable to just sitting here."

"You think she's still alive?"

"I think they would have demanded our surrender using her as a hostage if she was." Indy said grimly.

Shorty didn't say anything, but he did hold out his hand to the man he still saw as a father figure in his life. "Thanks for the hat."

"Sure thing, kid." Indy grinned and shook his friend's hand.

Neither of them needed a signal, they simply nodded at each other, got to a crouching position, then vaulted up over the tables and charged.

Commotion on the other side of the casino; the guards turned their attention away from the cage. Whatever was up, Zim knew the others were alive, at least for the time being. She took her hand from Lao's throat and drove a solid right fist into his face, sending the gangster sprawling. Snatching Lao's keys from the nearby counter top, she fumbled through them until she found the correct one and unlocked the cage. The attention of most of the guards nearest her was still on the commotion, but one or two had caught her movement from the corners of their eye.

She opened the cage door just enough to slip through and then slammed the door shut again and slipped a key into the lock, breaking it off and sealing Lao inside.

Then she went to work on the guards…

* * *

"I don't like this" 

"What's up, Wade?." Ron set the journal aside.

"Well, I think we're in the right vicinity," Wade answered after a moment, "But I also think they're expecting you. Or at least they're expecting _someone._"

"Yeah?"

"I'm reading some seriously sophisticated detection equipment down there. I can cloak the Ninjet and hide the heat signature, but I'm pretty sure this particular sonic wave is intended to detect water vapor."

"Which the Ninjet expels in its exhaust." Ron said forlornly, "Which means they'd detect us even while we're cloaked. Can you work around it?"

"I don't see how, at least not at the moment," Wade matched Ron's tone of voice, "I've never seen this type of energy signature before. But the harmonics being utilized in this frequency would likely bounce back off of even a slightly higher amount of humidity in the air. Could be part of the reason why this lair is so far up north."

"Where is this place anyway?"

"Looks like the signals are emanating from somewhere on the Lofoton Islands in Norway, just north of the Arctic Circle. Kim's probably there."

"Well, we can't just leave her."

Wade let out a slightly annoyed sigh, "Why is it you hero types always have to state the obvious on occasion? Are you expositing for someone I'm not aware of?"

"OK, OK," Ron protested, "Just trying to keep the conversation moving forward. What do we do?"

Wade brought the aircraft to a hover. Ron heard an electronic noise accompanied by a muffled 'whoosh' sound.

"What was that?"

"Sensor Probe," Wade answered, "I want to take a look at something… yeah, I thought as much. Time to go for a swim, Ron."

"What? I don't think this is- WHOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Ron let out a startled yell as the Ninjet suddenly plummeted into a vertical dive with thrusters at maximum. Ron pushed himself into the back of his seat, as though he could slow the momentum of the dive by stomping on the brake pedal, "WADE!"

"Oh, it's not like we haven't done this before, ya big baby." Back in his basement command center, Wade was rather enjoying himself. This was his little retaliation for Ron's martyr complex outburst back in Libya.

On far upper right hand monitor was an image of Monique cozied up in a living room chair reading a children's book to Ronnie-Anne. She looked up when she heard something, "Honey, are you screwing with Ron again?"

"Only a lot!" Wade protested.

"I heard that!" Ron said frantically, "Monique! If you can hear me, Wade just told me a half hour ago that he really thinks you guys should try having a baby!"

"WHAT!" Monique squealed in excitement and hurriedly leaped up from the chair, setting Ronnie-Anne back in it to wonder if she would ever get closure on whether that one Bear was "juuuust right" for Goldilocks (Monique didn't actually have any children's books, so she was reading one of her romance novels to Ronnie-Anne and substituting the character's names for those from common Fairy Tales. Ronnie-Anne thought the story was a bit odd for a sequel because Goldilocks and that one Bear really seemed to hug and kiss a lot).

Wade smacked his forehead. His wife definitely wanted to have children but he was hesitant… seriously hesitant. The idea of being a father scared him to death, and he'd always come up with reasons to put Monique off the subject.

"I hope you catch a cold, Ronin." Wade growled, then turned to fend off his wife's overeager excitement as she came squealing down the stairs. "Baby, I think Ron misunderstood what I was saying, I didn't really tell him…"

Back in the Ninjet, Ron switched off the monitor with a self-satisfied smirk, pulled up a map that showed his location and the location of the source of the signals, then hit the override function on the autopilot. The Ninjet slowed its downward plunge almost imperceptibly. Ron pulled up several menus on the view screen and selected an icon that looked like a tiny stick figure with its hands over its ears. A small panel on the front bumper of the Ninjet slid open, and an apparatus about the size of a dinner plate extended outward. Ron selected another icon and the front windshield turned a pale green as an infrared image of the rapidly oncoming surface of the ocean appeared on it. Ron braced himself, then moved his right index finger to hover over the stick figure icon. Just before the Ninjet hit the surface of the ocean, Ron tapped the icon and a massive sonic boom erupted from the dish-shaped array on the front of the aircraft.

When the sonic wave impacted with the surface of the ocean, it almost looked as though something solid and invisible had just plunged into the sea, though without a monstrous splash to accompany it. The surface was driven downward and outward in a 20 foot radius.

A split second later, the Ninjet plunged into the water and was enveloped by the 'crater' that had been generated by the impact of the sonic wave. By driving the water at the point of impact downward just before the aircraft hit, Ron was able to submerge the Ninjet without having to slow way down in order to avoid damaging the aircraft. If you watch those people who dive off the cliffs at Acapulco very closely, you'll notice they extend their arms above their heads and link their hands together in order to break the surface of the water before their heads collide with it, thus providing a 'cushion' of sorts to minimize the impact to their craniums. The same general principle was in application here. On a mission once, Ron took the Ninjet into a lake at full speed and caused considerable damage to the craft on impact with the surface of the water. He had to sit in the craft on the bottom of the lake for two hours while a GJ submersible vehicle could be deployed to rescue him.

Ron tapped a button with a picture of a submarine on it and four fins extended from the shields over the wheel wells, while two impellors built into the air intake shafts slid into place and began taking water through the forward side and shooting it out the rear of the craft. The sonic dish had already retracted into the front bumper housing and the panel slid back into place. He pulled back on the steering wheel and brought the craft level, then took a quick glance at his GPS, his relative position in relation to the source of the signal, and began piloting the craft in the appropriate direction.

His thoughts turned once more to his wife…

* * *

He'd taken the name "Dementor" mostly because he felt it was scary and imposing; which were two words that you would not think of when you looked at him. The diminutive villain had also adopted a style of speaking that he thought would sound very villain-esque. He'd begin a sentence in a normal tone of voice, and wind up practically screaming by the end of whatever it was he wanted to say. But he'd dropped that particular speech mannerism quite a few years ago when one of the villain conventions he attended featured a "Dementor sound-alike" contest… 

…and he lost.

Didn't even place in the top three. (The winner was Oswald Cobblepot, while second and third place went to Shego and Mystique respectively. Most of the audience thought Mystique should have won it.)

And it was to his great horror a few weeks later when he found out the contest was all tongue in cheek, and not done out of respect. These days he preferred to deliver his lines in a low, growlish sort of voice, which actually suited him well since he was getting older.

During the years when Ron was training at Yamanuchi and Kim was finishing her college education and beginning to make a name for herself as the world's first Cybernetics Neurologist, Dementor set about to change himself and how he went about the business of villainy.

He scrapped most of his plans to rule the earth and began working on smaller, more realistic schemes. He began with heists, each one more elaborate and high profile than the last. Then he moved on to high-level extortion; threatening small nations or wealthy corporate heads with annihilation via some weapon or another. When it seemed Kim Possible had retired for good, Dementor sought out a new nemesis. He took up residence in Gotham City for a time but was thoroughly defeated in every scheme he attempted, as well as muscled out of town by some of the more ruthless villains. Whoever that dark hero was that had taken it upon himself to rid Gotham of crime, Dementor didn't want any part of.

For awhile, the Professor seemed to lose purpose. Nothing had been going right lately and he wondered if he should just retire from villainy altogether and resume his teaching position at Fresno State (tenure was such a wonderful safety net for a villain in search of a fallback occupation).

But it was right about that time that Professor Dementor finally uncovered the true nature of his father. Dementor was a man obsessed with his own family lineage. He was constantly researching documents and old family journals to trace his ancestral line. His favorite ancestor had been an inventor around the turn of the twentieth century, he'd invented a device called the Electrostatic Illuminator, but it was stolen under mysterious circumstances and it ruined him. Unable to make his way in America, Professor Demends returned to his native Germany where he worked as a journeyman electrician and raised a family.

There was one glaring hole in Dementor's family tree, however. His own father. He'd never known his father, and his mother refused to talk about him, even on her own deathbed. It was as though she'd been ashamed of the man who had been her husband, and had fathered their only child.

After some careful research and tracking, Dementor was able to find out just why it was his mother never wanted to talk about her husband.

He had been a Nazi. And a loyal one at that.

Even after the war, Demends had left his family in Germany and followed his commanding officer to Argentina to continue the struggle of the Reich. But he'd either disappeared, or was killed. Whatever the case, something had happened to him and he'd never returned home. Dementor did everything he could to find out just what had happened to his father. Somewhere along the way, Dementor began to become entranced with the 'ideals' and goals of Adolph Hitler and the Nazi party. He felt a fundamental shift begin to happen within himself. All of his previous schemes and plots now suddenly seemed like child's play. In the philosophy of the Reich, Dementor found the true nature of evil, and it was partly because his own father had been a loyalist that Dementor surrendered himself to that evil. He soon found his thoughts returning to his previous dreams of ruling the world. But now those dreams were so much darker and more twisted. It began to consume him.

He turned his efforts to discovering the many reasons and avenues as to why the Nazis had been defeated. And during those efforts, he uncovered a name:

Dr. Henry Jones Jr.

For a time, Dementor shifted his focus to the archeologist, hoping to learn what exactly the man had to do with the Nazis and perhaps even his own father. In his search for information, he uncovered a monumental secret: rumor was that just before World war two, Dr. Jones had captured a relic of unimaginable power.

Dementor, professor and inventor that he was, was normally a man of science. A relic with mysterious powers held no attraction for him. But this particular relic had been sought after by the Nazis, by Hitler himself. Dementor began to believe there might be something to the legend of this particular artifact. So he began to research just what exactly the Ark of the Covenant was, and what it was supposed to do.

When he got his answer, he began to formulate a plan. He would find the Ark, and with it, bring about the Aryan Utopia his father and the Reich were never able to achieve. But to find the Ark, he'd need to find Dr. Jones. He'd also need a way to get into wherever the Ark was currently being held.

Thus, Professor Dementor formed an uneasy alliance with a rogue GJ agent named Locke.

Locke was simply looking to hire out the services of himself and a device he'd recently acquired called the IDOL. But when Dementor explained just exactly what it was he wanted to acquire, Locked suddenly took a keen interest in the job. Too keen an interest for Dementor's taste. Locke had double-crossed one of his former employers already. Dementor knew Locke would probably attempt to take the Ark for himself when they found it. But, since the IDOL really was capable of getting its bearer into secure places, Dementor needed him, for the time being.

He needed him, but there was no way he was going to trust him.

Although his opinion of Locke wasn't entirely negative. This evening, as he stepped into the small building in the frozen compound of his latest lair, Dementor was pleasantly surprised to discover Locke had captured Kim Possible.

He stood leering at them, grinning for the first time in perhaps years.

"Now", Dementor said, gazing intently from Locke to Kim, "What shall we talk about?"

* * *

'_Communications detection field in place. Won't be able to interact with you on any level. Good luck.'_

Ron stared at the words on the screen. They appeared when he tried to contact Wade to inform him he'd arrived near the supposed source of the detection equipment that was in use. But the view screen merely informed him that his signal was being blocked and returned back to the Ninjet. He considered turning around and contacting Wade when the words appeared on the screen. Wade wouldn't be able to talk to him, and probably wouldn't be able to interface with him either. Ron was on his own. Normally this wasn't too large a concern, they'd been in this situation before. But Wade had been unable to get any reading of just what exactly was on these islands, and Ron had no advance information of what he was about to walk into.

Infrared lights bathed the area for dozens of meters in front of the Ninjet; to Ron it was like looking at a pale green world through the front windshield. Presently a rocky, boulder-strewn landscape rose up before him and continued on above the surface of the ocean. Ron brought the impellors into reverse for a short burst until the craft came to a halt and looked dejectedly out his side window into the cold darkness of the Arctic Ocean. As much as he tried to figure another way, no ideas were coming to him. He was going to have to swim for it.

Ron reached down and slid out a small drawer beneath his seat that was filled with various gadgets and so forth. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled it out and closed the drawer. The gadget in question was a small breathing apparatus with a mouthpiece-shaped nozzle and two tiny tanks that extended to either side. An invention of Wade's, the tanks were designed to pull at least one breath's worth of oxygen from the water and store it until Ron breathed it in. Expelled CO2 was simply discharged directly back into the water, unless Ron needed to be stealthy and keep the bubbles from reaching the surface, in which case there was a small tube about the size and shape of a drinking straw that attached to a tiny opening in his suit. Expelled CO2 would travel through that tube and into the suit where it would then be dispersed throughout the suit's entire surface and released into the water as very tiny bubbles, smaller than those found in your glass when you're drinking a soda. This effect was almost unnoticeable even when Ronin was swimming beneath the calmest of surfaces.

Pulling on his mask, Ron placed the mouthpiece in his mouth and pulled up another icon on the view screen. This time it was an image of a car (the Ninjet, of course), with a water level halfway up the side of it. Ron tapped the icon then quickly withdrew his hand as watertight shielding began to slide over the main electronics panel, the steering wheel, the seats (Ron had to do a little hop on his butt as the shielding beneath his posterior slid into place), the interior of the windows and any place else that needed to be shielded from sea water. Just as he was attaching the Lotus Blade to its familiar place on his back, the last of the shielding locked into place and the driver's side door slowly began to slide upward, flooding the interior of the craft with water. To compensate for the added ballast, the Ninjet automatically transferred air from the cockpit into tanks near the engine to keep the buoyancy of the craft constant.

Ron was already shivering by the time the water level reached his kneecaps, although he was shivering just as much from a bad memory as he was from the cold temperature of the water. This was only the third time he'd had to go through this procedure; slowly submerging the Ninjet's interior so he could swim out. And each time he did, he was always reminded of that horrible night when he was chained to the bottom of a tank in Deathray's lair; Ray Beam and Shego standing above him as water rose up and over his head, his final thoughts being that he'd let Kim down one more ti-

"NO!" Ron practically yelled as he fought to push the memories away. He concentrated on other things, like the fact that Kim had saved him that night, and that they had gone on to defeat Ray Beam's plans, and eventually got married, and…

Soon, Ron was sitting in the cockpit completely submerged, wafer thin goggles over his eyes, bathing the area in infrared light. To Ron, the interior of the Ninjet looked pale, green, and shimmery. The driver's side door slid upward.

He checked to make sure the Lotus was secure on his back once more then put his hands on the eave of the roof and pulled himself out. His limbs were already beginning to grow stiff with numbness and cold as he swam toward the rocky shore a short distance ahead. Behind him, the driver's side door slid downward once more and the water was being emptied from the cockpit. Once the interior sensors detected low enough levels of humidity, the shields would retract and the Ninjet would be ready if Ron needed it above the surface.

Ronin reached the first of the boulders and began working his way toward the surface of the water. Just before he reached it, he slowed his upward progress to the speed of a minute hand on a clock and very slowly raised his head above the surface. Because the waves were sloshing against the rocks, this turned out to be a very difficult thing to do.

When he'd raised his head far enough above the water, he took a look around. Seeing nothing, he cautiously reached for the ledge of the boulder above him and very slowly began to haul himself up. Once again he moved with the speed of a minute hand, not knowing if the area was watched by infrared cameras, or motion sensors, or whatever other security measures might be in place.

When his head crested the upper edge of the boulder, he was startled to find another pair of eyes looking into his.

"ARGH?" asked the owner of that other pair of eyes.

Ronin breathed a sigh of relief, it was an arctic seal, and seemed to be amused that this large, black fish had crawled up out the ocean.

"ARGH!" it chuckled, "ARGH, ARGH, ARGH, ARGH!"

Ronin gave the seal a wry look, "Laugh it up, fuzzball."

Ron hauled himself up onto the slippery rock and crouched, taking a look around.

The seal uttered an annoyed grunt and slid away. Ron could see other seals lounging on nearby boulders and relaxed a little. Whatever detection equipment they had, it probably wasn't motion detectors, and infrared cameras would be further up the shore where the seals weren't likely to attract attention.

He cautiously began to make his way over the strewn boulders. The further he went, the more ice-encrusted the boulders seemed to be. Since the ones near the water were constantly being hit by waves, there wasn't much ice on them, but here, Ronin had to watch his step. He pulled a small flap on the left wrist of his suit back to reveal a tiny keypad and view screen. Touching the screen, he cycled through several icons until he saw one that looked like a pair of boots and tapped it. Tiny spikes protruded from the bottom of his boots, and even tinier ones emerged from the surface of his gloves. With at least a little bit of traction to work with, Ron worked his way over the rocks. He began to warm up as he did so, the suit retaining every bit of his body heat, though there was also a function that would allow him to expel it if he wished. He didn't.

Eventually, the boulders began to give way to a snowy, frozen tundra. The tiny but powerful infrared lights on Ronin's goggles were effective up to about fifty feat in front of him. Beyond that, everything melded from pale green to an inky blackness. However, lights were registering in the distance. Ron pushed an icon on his wrist pad and the image in his goggles began to shift as the sensors embedded in the katana logo on his chest scanned the area for various detection equipment. There didn't seem to be any motion sensors, nor was there any sonic detection equipment in use.

Ron took several tentative steps forward. Still nothing, and no lights or sirens either. He withdrew the Lotus Blade from his back and took several deep breaths as he began to walk toward the distant lights.

The only thing he could do now was-

The earth suddenly gave way beneath him.

To be more precise, a large trap door had sprung open under his feet.

Intensely bright lights flared up all around him. Ron yelled and involuntarily shielded his eyes as the brightness was enhanced by the infrared goggles and temporarily blinded him. Ronin suddenly found himself sightless and freefalling.

Instinctively, he transformed the Lotus Blade into a claw attached to a length of chain and hurled it outward in whatever direction he was facing. Ron heard it embed itself into an icy wall nearby. He gripped the chain tightly and held on, waiting for the inevitable 'pop' when the chain snapped taught. He arm was almost wrenched from its shoulder. His anguished cry was cut off when he slammed into the wall, lost his grip on the chain, and fell once more. Fortunately he didn't fall too far, and wound up belly flopping into about two feet of water.

Ron came up coughing and spluttering. He managed to get to his feet, still blind from the intense lights, though his peripheral vision was beginning to return. There were things on him, at least for a few seconds, but they twisted and fell from him, splashing back into the shallow water.

And there was something else, something that seemed to be moving around his legs.

Then, he felt a tingly sensation.

The water seemed to be sloshing and frothing. Things felt as though they were bumping into his boots, and all the while, the tingly sensation would flare up every now and then. Ron was bruised, his arm felt like it had grown a couple of inches, and he was still coughing, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed.

He stood completely still and waited for his eyesight to come back. The fact that his eyesight was returning already indicated something to him; wherever he was, it was well lit.

Ron still felt things sliding past and around his legs, but it seemed to be below the water level. The tingly sensation felt like it occurred whenever something bumped into his leg.

Time went by…

Ron's eyesight didn't seem to be returning as well as he thought. He could see white in the corner of his eyes, but ahead he could see only blackness; a rippling, writhing blackness. It seemed to shift and squirm. Ron blinked several times to try and clear up his vision. Then he moved his head up and down….

…and suddenly found himself wishing his eyesight hadn't returned after all.

When he raised his head, the blackness had suddenly become bright white. Ron found himself staring at walls of ice which were illuminated from above by very powerful floodlights. He was in a vast subterranean ice cave, roughly square shaped; one that had apparently been dug not long ago. Some thirty feet above him, the trap door remained open, but there was virtually no way to climb up to it. It was placed near the middle of the ceiling of the cave, and that ceiling extended out fifty feet in all directions but one. That one direction was about twenty feet to the nearest ice wall where Ron saw the claw and chain still hanging. The cavern was comprised solely of solid ice. On the far side of the cave was a small shelf that rose only a couple of feet above the surface of the water.

But it was the water itself that really unnerved Ron.

Save for the shelf, the entire rest of the floor of the cave was covered in roughly twenty-four inches of water. Not that you could much tell it was water, because it seemed to be frothing and squirming; constantly moving. And it was dark, almost totally black.

Swimming – or rather swarming - in the water were millions of electric eels.

There were so many eels, in fact, that Ronin couldn't see through them to the icy floor of the cavern. It was as if the cave were covered in a humongous, squirming, wet carpeting that constantly writhed and moved as the millions of eels swam around each other.

Ron was horrified.

Then, that tingly sensation again. Ron realized his suit was absorbing the electric discharges put off by the eels. It turned out what he thought were things bumping into his boots were actually eels biting them as they swam by. The boots were thick enough so that he didn't feel any pain, but it was still a creepy feeling. He stood completely motionless.

"Wade?" Ron tried to get in contact with his friend. Before he even finished the word, someone spoke above him.

"Hello!"

Ron looked upward to see Locke gazing down at him through the trap door. That stupid cyber-monkey was perched on his shoulder.

"Hello!" Locke continued, "Why Agent Ronin, whatever are you doing in such a nasty place?"

"Why don't you come on down here and I'll show you!" Ron hollered back up at the man. He was somewhat shocked to see Professor Dementor peek over the edge to gaze down at him. There were several henchmen with them.

"Thank you, my friend," Locke said good-naturedly, "But I think we are all very comfortable up here. Isn't that right?"

Locke looked around at his henchmen who grinned, nodding.

"That's right, isn't it?" Locke went on, smiling at the others, then looked down at Ron once more, "Yes, we are all very comfortable up here."

Ron said nothing but glared up at the rogue agent.

"Once again, Stoppable, what was briefly yours is now mine." Ron could only guess he was talking about Kim, "What a fitting end to your life's work. You're about to perish in the line of duty. Who knows? You may even get a promotion out of this, after you're dead of course…"

"Oh, ha, ha, ha." Ron laughed sarcastically and looked around, "You son of a b-"

"I'm afraid we must be going now, Ron Stoppable," Dementor cut him off, "Our prize awaits us. But we do not wish to leave you down in that awful place all alone."

Locke looked up in surprise as one of Dementor's henchmen dragged a kicking and yelling Kim Possible to the edge of the trap door, then hurled her into it.

Ron's blood froze as his wife began plummeting through the air. He knew that even if he tried to catch her, Kim's momentum would send them both plunging into the teeming mass of eels and she'd be dead in a matter of seconds. He gritted his teeth and prepared to try and catch her anyway.

As she fell, Kim spied something out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively, her hand shot out and the end of a length of chain reached out and sailed into her grasp. Gripping the chain, she tried to twist in the air to get her feet under her, but was unsuccessful. She impacted with the wall fairly hard, and lost her grip on the chain.

Ron waded through the teeming mass of serpents toward the wall and was just in time to catch Kim in his arms as she half fell/half slid down the icy surface. Ron held her tightly to him.

"What took you so long?" Kim asked, almost angrily, I've been-… EEEEWWWWW! WHAT IS THAT?"

Kim was staring at the frothing mass of eels now, her attention diverted away from anything else. She actually managed to scramble out of Ron's arms and up on to his shoulders. Ron grunted and huffed as he tried to steady himself and not lose a grip on his wife. It didn't help that her heel was digging into his back and her left hand was pushing against his face, squishing it up to one side.

Up on the surface, Locke stood up and glared angrily at Dementor, "The girl was mine!"

"She is of no use to us." Dementor said menacingly, "Only our mission matters. I wonder sometimes if you have that clearly in mind."

Locke ignored the threat, walked to the edge of the trap door and looked down at Kim sadly, "I guess it was not meant to be."

Kim had once more settled back into Ron's arms. She glared up at Dementor, "Oh, I'll get you for this, you bastard."

Locke took one last look at her then fixed his gaze on Ron, "Agent, Ronin? Adieu."

Slowly, the heavy trap door began to slide back into place. Just before it thudded closed, Locke heard Kim's voice shouting up at him…

"NOOOOOOO-"

…and then it was abruptly cut off. Locke closed his eyes as silence suddenly descended on the area. He uttered a silent, painful goodbye to Kim Possible.

Back in the cavern:

"What was that all about?" Ron asked his wife after they kissed briefly, "A little overdramatic, don't you think?"

"Locke's got a huge crush on me," Kim said with a sly grin, "I thought I'd toss up a guilt trip at him as a parting gift, you know, make him think I really wanted to be with him."

"Ooohhh," Ron looked back up at the now closed trap door, "Poor Bill."

"'Poor Bill'?" Kim asked indignantly.

Ron gazed at her with a sympathetic look on his face, "Most guys would rather be down here then be led on by a girl they really like."

"Yeah?"

Ron nodded, then looked down at her for the first time, noticing the form-hugging black dress she was wearing.

"Where'd you get this?" He asked suspiciously, "From _him_?"

"I was trying to escape." She protested, "No thanks to you."

"How hard were you trying?" Ron snarked.

"And where exactly were you all this time?" she sifted in his arms to face him more squarely, "And just how are we going to get out of here?"

"I'm working on it," Ron assured her, "I'm working on it. I wonder what your grandfather would do in a situation like this?"

Kim replied, "I doubt he's ever been in a mess this bad…"

* * *

Indy was feeling like Indy again. 

The first guard he got to he feigned with his left, bringing it around in a showy display of threat, forcing that guard to bring up both his hands to block the incoming punch. But since Indy was right handed, the left wasn't much good for anything other than preliminary punches and follow-ups. The right fist came hurtling in and slammed into the guard's jaw before he realized he'd committed too much to defending himself against the wrong punch.

Not that his left was entirely useless. As his right thundered into the face of the enemy, his left swept out and snatched another thug by the collar and pulled him toward the archeologist. Indy pivoted and brought a knee up into his adversary's midsection, a self-satisfied smirk appearing on his face as he listened to the guard's breath explode from him. A follow-up right across the jaw dropped his opponent.

Shorty went after the weapons before Indy could stop him. Two guards came up with pistols to find the young Chinese man leaping into the air, his legs flashing out in opposite directions. Both took hard blows to the head as Shorty landed his kicks almost simultaneously. Once the move was complete, Shorty spun while still in the air and landed in a crouch, snatching up the pistols, one in each hand. He came up with them pointed in almost opposite directions, one each at a guard. At that instant, another guard got a hold of a Tommy Gun and made his way around behind Indy, placing the barrel of the weapon against Indy's temple. The archeologist froze.

So did Shorty.

The rest of the guards came to a halt as Indy's hands slowly rose into the air. It was over.

'_Click_'.

Or the gun was empty.

Indy didn't hesitate, he brought up his left elbow and knocked the gun into the guard's face. Then a half turn, and he swept a stiff backhand across the thug's eyes, then another half turn and his trusty right fist obliterated the guard's nose.

"Indy?" Shorty's voice was uneasy. He still held two guards at bay with others just behind, but they were inching their way forward, preparing to rush him en masse.

"Quit fooling around with those guys and get over here!" Indy barked.

Shorty did as he was told, backing away from Lao's men while keeping a wary eye on them.

"Hand me one of those," Indy said.

Shorty handed over a pistol, then watched as Indy raised it. There was no question that between the two of them, they did not possess enough ammo to take out all the guards. But on a deeper level, Shorty was somewhat horrified that Indy would gun down unarmed adversaries.

"Chandelier." Indy said simply and raised his gun higher.

Shorty looked up and saw what he meant, Indy was already firing when Shorty had his gun up and pulle the trigger. Bullets thudded into the plastered ceiling around the place where the massive light fixture was anchored. When they ran out of ammo, there was a second of silence, then the chandelier ripped free of the ceiling and plummeted toward the floor. The guards had been cowering, having assumed the two men were firing at them. When they looked up, the massive light was already hurtling toward them. Most of them never managed to get out of the way.

Shorty supposed what happened might not be much different from simply shooting the guards, but in his mind the chandelier tactic gave them at least a fighting chance. That was the mark of a real hero.

In Indy's mind, he figured he could take out more guards with the chandelier than trying to put a bullet into each of them. Sometimes chivalry and gallantry had to be sacrificed for the purpose of survival. After all, he'd once shot a swordsman just because he was in no mood to fight him.

Zim had two elements working in her favor. The first were her fighting skills. The second were her very shapely legs which the guards would catch a glimpse of every time she performed a kick maneuver. More than one guard that night went into unconsciousness having caught a vision of a perfect leg all the way up to the inner thigh, and woke up later feeling it was completely worth it.

When the chandelier came crashing down, Zim had already dispatched five guards while Lao Che watched, helplessly fuming from inside his cage. She worked with both efficiency and grace, and since she was fighting in a beautiful blue evening gown, she was a vision of graceful efficiency. A few of the guards had some fighting prowess, and she was forced to spend more time dealing with them than she preferred. Two were well-skilled fighters, and she might have actually been beaten by them if Shorty had not come charging in to help.

Indy continued to battle guards on the other side of the floor, having sent Shorty over to help her once they realized she was alive. Shorty said as much.

"I can handle things myself." Zim said curtly.

"You don't understand," Shorty said while delivering a roundhouse kick and dropping yet another opponent, "Most of the remaining guards are over here now. He said he can keep a few of them occupied while we reduce their number even further."

"Why doesn't he come over and join us?"

"He said it'd be better to keep them divided."

"Ha!" Zim scoffed, "I'm getting battle tactics from a man named 'Indiana'."

Shorty blocked a punch, then twisted his adversary's arm downward while delivering a blow to the side of the head with his free hand. When the guard went down, Shorty quickly turned to Zim and said with a tone of awe, "Lady, you call him 'Dr. Jones'!"

She noticed he was looking past her.

Zim's eyes widened for an instant, then she turned her head and looked over toward the other side of the casino. What she saw was a man almost possessed by some fighting spirit. He threw a solid left at one guard, then turned slightly and delivered a hard right cross to another, coming back to finish off the first guard with his left again. Indy's fists flew, slammed into faces, and pulled back, ready to fire once more. Right to the face, left to the midsection, pull an adversary forward and bring his right knee into the nose, three quick punches to the jaw, right uppercut to the chin. Take two punches, give out four. Repeat as necessary.

Zim watched in astonishment.

This was Indy in his element; the warrior who somehow overcame impossible odds, and fought many enemies. He was Samson slaying the Philistine army. He was Achilles, fending off the Spartans. He was Raitaro, driving back the demon monkey hordes. He was Indiana Jones.

Five guards were left now, then three as Shorty finished off two of them. The remaining thugs began to retreat, despite Lao Che's repeated screams for them to attack. Indy hurried over to his companions.

"We should leave this party before it gets boring," He said to the others.

Zim knew exactly what he meant by that. It was time to depart before a lot of these guards began to regain consciousness and it all began again.

"Head for the stairs!" Indy ordered. The others obeyed. Indy turned toward the cage and opened his jacket to show Che his satchel, "So long, Lao, and thanks for the souvenir!"

Indy turned and raced toward the stairs and not a moment too soon. A split second later, one of the guards came up with a Tommy Gun and fired, spraying the far end of the casino with bullets. Bullet thuds and impacts chased Indy's heels up the stairs.

The three of them cleared the top landing and sprinted up a corridor. Zim ducked into the first door she came to.

"No!" Indy barked, "We have to go all the way up!"

"We can climb out through the window!" Zim shot back.

"The windows won't open. Lao doesn't trust his guests not to skip out on their gaming debts." Indy said quickly.

Zim soon discovered he was right. This annoyed her for some reason, "Well, we can _smash _open the window."

Indy shook his head, "All the furniture is bolted. Come on, we gotta go!"

And again, Zim discovered he was right. Even the lamps were bolted to the night tables. A quick kick to the glass told her that would do no good, it was quite thick. This seemed to annoy her all the more. She was beginning to feel like she was no longer in charge of this operation, or at the very least, losing control of it.

Indy took a quick glance around then looked back into the room, "Will you come _on_?"

Bullets thudded against the door frame as Indy ducked and ran down the remainder of the corridor and around the corner. Zim stood just inside the doorway and waited for the shooting to stop, intending to move when it did. It did, she moved, and ran headlong into two guards who had come running down the hallway. One of them had a gun, and raised it to shoot her.

Zim ran at the opposite wall of the corridor and ran straight up it. In fact, she had so much momentum she actually ran halfway back across the ceiling and pushed off, half somersaulting to bring a hard kick with each leg into the faces of the guards. As they dropped, bullets began sizzling through the air all around her. Zim dropped to the floor and picked up the guard's gun, returning fire until it ran empty. She'd managed to put down at least one guard at the other end, but more were clearly on their way. Zim got up, tossed the gun, and raced down the corridor, around the corner to join the others.

"This way!" Indy said after a quick glance to make sure she was all right.

The three of them raced up a smaller set of stairs, turned, and ran up yet another. This continued on for some time until they reached the ninth floor, where a locked door barred their progress. Indy and Shorty took turns kicking at the heavy wooden door until it finally splintered and gave way. They raced up the stairs once more. But when they reached the landing this time, they found a heavy metal door and it was bolted fast.

They looked around. It seemed this particular floor was both the residence as well as the office of Lao Che. There was a long corridor with only two doors on opposite sides. Zim peeked into one door and found the office, while Shorty peeked into the other and found an apartment. Indy simply stood at the near end of the corridor staring at something.

"Shorty?" Indy called out, "See if you can find a sword, or spear; something Lao might keep for decorative purposes. I think I just found our way out of here."

Zim came back out in to the hall to see what Indy was staring at. She noticed the look on his face was almost one of nostalgia.

It was a large gong suspended by ropes a few feet from the floor. He'd seen it before, and it still had the marks where the bullets had impacted it ten years ago.

Shorty came running back out into the hall with a long decorative sword and handed it to Indy.

"Right," Indy said as he took the weapon, "Here's how this is gonna work. I'm going to cut this thing down from its ropes, it will fall to the floor and roll down the hallway, smashing through the window on the far end. We'll climb out and make our way down to the car."

The others simply nodded, even Zim didn't have a better plan that she could think of at the moment.

"Stand back," Indy warned as he raised the blade.

The others retreated a few steps as Indy swung the blade and cut one of the ropes. Falling free from one of it's anchors, the gong began swinging lazily back and forth a couple of feet off the floor. Indy stepped back a few paces and tensed, ready to run.

Nothing happened. Zim and Shorty looked at Indy expectantly.

"I thought it would break free from the other rope. OK then," He stepped forward and raised the sword again, "I'm going to cut it when it swings forward, that way it should roll down the hall and smash through the window. Get ready."

Indy swung the sword again and jumped back. The gong came crashing to the floor.

Then crashed through it.

And then it crashed through the floor below as well. And the one below that.

Zim and Indy came to the edge of the newly created hole in the floor and peered downward. They could no longer see the gong, but they could still hear it crashing through the floors below them.

"Did you take any physics in college?" Zim asked.

"I didn't hear you making any helpful suggestions," Indy shot back.

"That's because I didn't take any physics in college," Zim answered pertly, "Actually, I never even went to college."

"Well, that might explain a few th-"

"Hey!" Shorty's voice from the other end of the hall cut off Indy's insult, "This window has a latch! And it opens!"

Zim looked at Indy and actually grinned, "They teach you any common sense in college?"

"Once again," Indy countered, "I didn't hear _you _making any helpful suggestions."

"Touche'." Zim replied, her grin broadening into an actual smile. The fact that they both felt sheepish amused her.

They moved off down the corridor.

The gong came to its final resting place in the counting room, having thundered through the ceiling of the casino, obliterating the cashier's cage, and taking Lao Che along with it. He lived just long enough to watch a few of his own employees take one look at him and then grab huge handfuls of his cash before climbing up out of the new hole in the roof.

Indy, Zim and Shorty edged their way out of the window and onto the ledge. One by one, they dropped to a balcony of one of the hotel rooms below. They did this for two more floors before they ran out of balconies and had to edge along the ledge to the fire escape at the end of the building. Zim was just wondering why they didn't use the fire escape earlier when she realized there was no door leading to it. Lao really didn't trust his own guests, and had the fire escapes installed on the side of the building for the sake of appearance. And even then the metal stairways only went down as far as the third floor. Once again the three of them inched their way along a ledge and then dropped one more floor to the roof of the large parking pavilion at the rear of the building. Their car was waiting for them at the southern corner of the pavilion.

Shorty peered over the edge and whistled, "That's a Duesenberg, isn't it?"

"Same car as last time," Indy confirmed, nodding.

"I'll drive , then." Shorty said eagerly as he got ready to drop over the side and into the car.

"No, Shorty, don-"

"I can do this just fine!" Shorty protested eagerly, "Watch!"

The younger man dropped lightly over the side. Indy clenched up his face. There was a loud _'FWUMP'_ and Shorty seemed to cry out in pain.

Indy leaned over the side, "Are you all right?"

Shorty was laying almost spread eagle on the roof of the car. He moaned loudly.

"I tried to tell you, kid!" Indy did his best to keep from laughing, but he wasn't having much luck, "This one's a hard top, not a convertible like the last one. Did you break anything?"

"Pretty sure I broke my pride," and Shorty also seemed to be trying to hold back laughter himself.

A shot rang out, and a bullet seared the air between Zim and Indy. Neither of them said anything, they just vaulted over the side and dropped onto the roof of the car. Shorty was already inside searching for the keys. More shots rang out. Bullets shattered the glass of the rear windows.

"Visor!" Indy yelled as he flung himself into the back seat, Zim was close behind.

Shorty pulled down the sun visor and the keys dropped into his waiting hand. Indy pulled up his suitcase from the floor of the back seat and opened it. Inside were his .45 and his revolver. He handed Zim the .45.

Without asking or hesitating, Zim pointed the gun out the shattered rear window and fired repeatedly while Shorty cranked up the engine and sped away. Indy loaded his revolver and watched as three cars' headlights came on and moved in pursuit of them.

"I don't think these are Lao's men," Zim was watching as well.

Indy nodded, "I was thinking the same thing. These guys were waiting for us out here. The Nazis maybe?"

"Or the Soviets." Zim answered.

More bullets sailed through the air as Shorty careened around a corner, the back end of the car sliding around a bit. Indy stuck his gun out his side window and fired three shots at the nearest car.

"What kind of gun is that?" Zim asked when he pulled himself back inside.

"Just my revolver, why?" Indy asked.

"It sounds like a cannon." Zim observed.

"Yeah," Indy said looking down at his gun, "I don't know why, but it's always done that."

Zim leaned out and fired several more shots out the rear window. The lead car's front windshield shattered and the vehicle swerved violently to one side before crashing into a parked car and turning over.

"Nice." Indy said nodding, then leaned out his side window and fired four more shots. They both ducked low in the seat as bullets came flying and ricocheting through their car. Shorty was hunched down in the front seat wishing he hadn't volunteered to drive.

"Where's the plane?" Shorty called back as he straightened up once more.

"Tied to the docks at the end of Changjiang road!" Indy informed him.

Shorty knew where that was, it was a bombed out industrial section of town on the Huangpu river. He raced up Yinguan road and turned right Jiangyang boulevard, they were beginning to pull away from their pursuers. But it was clear they weren't far enough away, not for Zim to have time to start up the plane.

Indy began to think of a plan to hold their pursuers off while Zim fired up the engines.

Shorty brought the car to a screeching halt outside a locked gate at the Changjiang docks. Two people got out of the car and slammed the rear door shut. Shorty stomped down on the accelerator before the other two had a chance to say anything and took off.

"Shorty, NO!" Zim called out after the retreating vehicle, then she turned to Indy, "What's he doing?"

"Buying us time," Indy answered grimly, "Come on!"

He pulled her through the broken hinges of the rusty gate and they ducked behind a couple of crates while the two remaining vehicles sped by in pursuit.

Once they were gone, Indy and Zim ran for the plane.

Zim numbly went through the checklist and cranked up the engines. She was certain there was no way Shorty would be able to escape. He was unarmed. Although, to his advantage, he knew the streets. Maybe there _was_ hope for him. She looked behind her to see Indy staring out the open side door of the aircraft. She could probably guess what was going through his mind.

"You'll have to close that door," she called back almost regretfully.

"Huh?" Indy was roused from his thoughts, "Oh, right."

The door closed, Zim brought the aircraft around to face southeast. There was the barest hint of sunrise in the eastern sky. She throttled up and the plane was in the air less than two minutes later. Once clear of the river, she began to turn the aircraft toward the north, back toward the direction of the monastery.

"Turn around!" thundered a voice almost in her ear. Zim yelped, and looked up at Indiana Jones. He was wearing his leather jacket and fedora once more.

"What?

"I said turn us around! We're not going to leave Shorty back there!" Indy yelled above the roar of the engine.

Zim didn't question him further, she pulled back on the steering apparatus and banked the plane toward the city. A few minutes later, they were slowly circling above Shanghai. Indy was peering intently down at the streets.

"There!" He bellowed and pointed.

Zim followed the line of his finger and looked downward to see a pair of headlights not far ahead of two more pairs of headlights. At this time of night/morning, they were just about the only vehicles on the street.

"Let him know we're here!" Indy yelled.

Zim knew what he meant, She brought the aircraft around and then into a shallow descent.

From Shorty's vantage point, a plane suddenly filled the sky above the street, roared overhead, then pulled back up into the air and banked off to the right. He smiled and skidded around a corner, raced down the block and turned on to Nenjiang lane.

In the plane, Indy never took his eyes off the vehicles until briefly when there were no windows from which to see them. He opened the side door and moved back up toward the cockpit.

"Land there!" he pointed at a section of the river.

Zim took one look then banked back around to take a lower approach.

"You have a weapons locker on this crate?" Indy asked as he continued to stare out the side door, while holding one of the nearby anchor straps.

"Near the back!" she called out then began to descend. Soon the plane was once more on the water.

Indy moved to the rear of the aircraft and opened a small trunk-like locker. He pulled out an M1918 Ballistic Air Rifle and loaded a clip, then moved back to the side door.

Nenjiang lane in Shanghai ends abruptly at the river. In those days there was a small pedestrian gate which was locked at night, and a pier for fishing purposes that extended out part way over the water. Shorty thought of all the times he had come down here to fish as the car slammed through the gates and thundered out on to the pier. He saw the plane some twenty yards off shore, and to the right, moving from right to left. He just had time to roll down his window when the car smashed through the railing on the far end of the pier and sailed out over the river. The vehicle arced lazily through the air for two seconds and then impacted with the surface in a cascading splash. Shorty scrambled through the open window and began swimming hard for the plane.

Behind him, the two vehicles came screeching to a stop and men began to scramble out.

"Stoy!" one of them yelled; Russian for 'halt'.

Indy cocked the BAR and pulled the trigger, not waiting for them to shoot first. Fire blazed forth from the barrel of the weapon while bullets sparked off the vehicles, or thudded into the pier. Two members of the pursuing party went down.

"Swim for it, Shorty!" Indy yelled while he loaded another clip.

Those on shore began firing at the plane.

Zim drew a pistol from a small compartment beneath her seat, leaned over the co-pilot's chair, slid open the window and emptied her clip at the shore.

One of those on shore began firing into the river itself. Shorty began to tire, his momentum slowed. Finally the younger man came to a complete stop and raised his hand to wave them on without him. He was exhausted.

Indy stooped, picked up his whip and flung his arm forward, lashing the end of the whip around Shorty's extended arm. The younger man let out a yelp.

"GO LIEUTENANT!" Indy roared as he began pulling Shorty toward the plane.

Zim throttled up, and Indy almost toppled out the door, just barely catching himself on one of the anchor straps. He secured himself and continued to haul Shorty in while bullets sang through the air and impacted into the fuselage. Faster and faster the plane went, Indy tugged with one hand and picked up the BAR with the other, unloading the clip at the shore. Then, with one last Herculean effort, Indy hauled Shorty up into the plane. Shorty collapsed on to the deck as Indy closed the side door, then collapsed next to Shorty.

A minute later, the plane climbed into the air, and into the reddening dawn of the new morning.


	6. Transitions

Author's milestone: This is an interesting day to post for me. Yesterday, April 13, was the first anniversary of the posting of the first chapter of REUNION; my first ever published fanfic. And what a year it's been. I want to thank everyone who's been so patient with my less-than-short stories over the last twelve months. You guys have absolutely been the best, and have meant a great deal to me, and I cannot express my gratitude enough, both to the new readers, as well as those who began reading REUNION from its rough early chapters. Thanks again.

Thanks to everyone who is reading, I hope you are enjoying the tale.

Extra special thanks to the reviewers: Atomic Fire, Zaratan, WesUAH, whitem, Cilghal16, JPMod, MrDrP, Ezbok58a, jasminevr, Lydia King, puppyface, Ace Ian Combat, Brother To Vorlons, Darkcloud1, RealityBreakGirl, and Qracer23.

And a lighthearted apology for the April Fool's joke to: LydiaKing, docarrol, conan98002, whitem, JPMod, Cilghal16, PseudoJuliet, Ace Ian Combat, GnuHopper, TexasDad, U.S. Steele, Matri, WidowShark, Kimberly Anne Possible, Ezbok58a, SeamusDubh, jasminever, and an effin' apology to Ms. Mutt Li (ya goofball).

Note: a couple of people have asked why I don't respond to all the reviews as some other authors do. Truth is, I just don't have the time (as you might be able to tell from the fact that I've only been able to post a chapter a month with this story), I do make an effort to respond to reviews that ask specific questions or bring up specific issues, but otherwise, everyone who leaves a review will get a heart-felt thanks at the beginning of subsequent chapters. Also, I have a HUGE backlog of stories that people have asked me to read and render my opinion on. Just rest assured I have the list written down and I will get to each of you in turn ASAP. My apologies to some of you for the delay.

Alternate Titles to this Story: "The Bridges of Middleton County" or "The Chronicles of Nana".

* * *

Chapter 6. Transitions

* * *

No one said much.

They were in the plane once more, heading eastward, away from China, across the ocean. The second meeting with the monks had not been very productive. And no one was happy about it. Even Zim was furious. All that effort for… what? A clue? That's all it amounted to, in essence. A single word: 'Japan'.

Indy seemed to be brooding, while Shorty kept silent, lost in his own thoughts.

In fact, Shorty was beginning to feel somewhat lost in a general sense. For the price of a brief adventure, he'd had his life turned upside down. Just six months short of graduating from the University of Shanghai, Shorty now found himself homeless; a twenty-two year old man housing the soul of a frightened six-year-old boy who had once tried to pick the pocket of the only man he ever saw as a father figure.

What would become of him now? Returning to Shanghai was out of the question. Lao Che would no doubt be hunting for him, and when caught, end his life without hesitating. Though, had Shorty or the others known Che was dead, they'd still probably be loathe to go back. Whoever those Russians were, they'd likely attempt to find Wan Li as well, and no one was quite sure just exactly who they were. Zim suspected they were agents working for the KGB, and if that was the case, Shorty's life would have ended under their supervision as well.

When they had arrived at the Shao Lin monastery, there was actually a glimmer of hope for Shorty, as the monks there offered to take him in and train him further in his martial arts skills. But Indy, when hearing of the offer, refused outright. Something had upset him, and even Zim seemed to be in agreement, or at least she seemed to be reflecting Indy's mood.

Shorty was not present at the meeting with the Chief monk, electing to stay out of whatever intrigue Zim and Indy were caught up in. Initially he'd been swept up by the excitement, and the overwhelming feelings of nostalgia for all the adventures he'd shared with Indy when he was a child. But on the flight to the monastery, reality slowly began to sink in for Shorty. He had no home to return to. His friends would find he'd disappeared and would likely never hear from him again. His educational career was over, at the point just short of completion.

And that reality began to anger Shorty. Once again, Indiana Jones had charmed yet another person into dropping their lives and following him on one of his adventures. And once again, Indy seemed to practically command loyalty from those around him almost effortlessly. Even Zim, as cold as she was to the archeologist, still helped Jones out of the mess he had ultimately created for himself. Shorty began to wonder if Indy was even aware that he used people, and used them to such an extent that they often found themselves torn from their comfortable lives - as had been the case with Willie Scott - or even dead, as was the case with Wu Han. Shorty suspected there was probably a long line of torn lives and dead bodies in the wake of the life of Doctor Henry Jones Jr.

When reality began to offer a tiny ray of hope to him, Indy had stepped in and shut it down, refusing outright the monks' offer to take him in. He looked over at the brooding older man and began to wonder if the regret that was now filling him might have been better avoided if he'd just refused to have anything to do with Indy ever again.

As exhilarating as it had been to help Dr. Jones with the retrieval of Nurhachi, ultimately Shorty began to believe it wasn't worth it.

Indy could feel the younger man's eyes on him, could feel his resentment. And perhaps he had acted in haste when he told the monks he wasn't about to leave Shorty in their care and tutelage. But when he thought about the meeting with Clear Sky, the chief monk, frustration would begin to broil within him.

The monk had unceremoniously taken the urn with Nurhachi's ashes and simply placed it back in its spot among the ashes of other dead Chinese emperors without so much as a word of acknowledgment at its retrieval. Yes, Indy had taken it ten years before, and yes, it was for the purpose of obtaining a rare diamond, but some recognition of the effort would have been appreciated at least a little.

All that could have been forgotten, of course… after all, Indy and Zim were there for much-needed information. But instead of learning the location of the head-piece of the Tempus Simia, they were given a short, vague history and sent on their way. Indy couldn't believe it. All that effort and their only reward was what amounted to just a clue. And that was the extent of it. Indy could tell Zim was angry over this, especially when the monks informed her that Russian speaking men had been to the monastery and learned of their trip to Shanghai. For some reason, Zim and Indy had expected the monks to keep silent about their efforts to locate the Tempus Simia, and were shocked to find they had told the Russians everything they knew; simply told them outright! It further floored Indy that the monks had given out their information not in an act of betrayal, but simply because the Russians had asked for it. He realized that his theft ten years before probably made him the bad guy in their eyes, and if they were willing to share information with him, why not Russians who had never done them any harm?

Indy breathed a heavy sigh and turned the information over in his mind.

During their meeting, Clear Sky had gone to an underground chamber and retrieved an ancient piece of rice parchment that was filled with faded Chinese calligraphy. The parchment itself was probably priceless, and – Indy thought - clearly belonged in a museum. Politics, changing governments, dynasties that rose and died out, even world wars seemed to have had little effect on the remote monastery, and thus the place was a treasure trove of ancient Chinese history.

Zim and Indy studied the parchment together, confirming words and phrases they were unfamiliar with by asking the chief monk their definitions. When they had finished, they asked for more, and were told that was all the information the monks possessed.

The details were scant. The parchment told of three elderly travelers who had come from across the sea, right around the year 360 A.D. (as was Indy's estimation based on the Dynasty that ruled at the time of the parchment's creation). One of the travelers was known only as 'Sensei', there was a woman whose name was unknown, and a second man whose name, they had learned, was Kintaro. The travelers had brought with them a talisman fashioned of stone, shaped like a monkey, that separated into two pieces at the neck. To Zim and Indy's frustration, the parchment noted that a detailed account of the talisman, its powers, and much that had happened before The Tempus Simia was brought to the monastery had been written out and sent back across the sea with the travelers, though no copies were kept at the monastery. Only the one parchment that made an almost passing mention was kept. It went on to note that three groups of monks set out to place the pieces of the talisman as far from each other as possible; the third group was tasked with constructing a temple that revealed how the talisman worked.

Instead of learning anything vital, Zim and Indy found they only had more questions.

"Why would this parchment mention a more detailed account being written, but this monastery would not keep a copy among your records?" Zim asked Clear Sky.

The chief monk spread his hands in a gesture of placid resignation, "The affairs of the outside world are not ours. Travelers came to this monastery seeking help, Our predecessors offered it to them. But the instructions and histories were theirs to do with as they saw fit. It was the task of our forefathers only to record the events as they pertained to our order. The true record was sent back with the travelers."

"To Japan, right?" Indy had asked, taking off his spectacles and looking the chief monk squarely in the eye, "The names mentioned here are Japanese in origin."

"That would likely be a fair assumption," The monk agreed vaguely.

"So why then would three groups of your own monks set out to disperse the pieces of the Tempus Simia if the affairs of the outside world don't concern you?" Zim practically demanded.

Clear Sky nodded placidly, "Many come here seeking enlightenment and do not find it. However, those who have not found it within these walls often have found it in the undertaking of a journey. I suspect this was the case with the three groups who set out. They had not attained enlightenment within our order, but chose to seek it in the manner of a difficult task. It is believed the more difficult task one is given, the greater the enlightenment one receives upon its completion."

"So in the minds of these monks," Indy speculated, "The Tempus Simia was incidental, almost irrelevant."

"Yes," Clear Sky nodded enthusiastically, "It is in the undertaking of the task that they sought to find themselves. As they saw it, the task presented to them was an opportunity to gain understanding."

"So you do not know where they went, or which direction they set out in?" Zim asked, her patience growing short.

"It is very likely such information would be contained in the detailed account that was sent back across the sea with the three travelers." The chief monk answered languidly.

Zim's jaw was set, and she could only nod before she left the chamber. Indy put his spectacles back on and scribbled a few notes from the parchment, mumbled a thanks, and then left as well.

Outside, Zim was standing there, waiting, her arms folded across her chest. Indy could have guessed what she was thinking, but she told him anyway.

"All of that…" She trailed off, almost too angry to talk, "All of that effort at cleaning up your mess and this is what there is to show for it!"

"They weren't going to give us the information unless I returned what I took." Indy countered.

"Exactly!" Zim practically shouted, "I had to run off on some huge detour, where if I had come here alone, they would have at least given me the information and I could have been in Japan by now looking for the more detailed history! The Russians are still a step behind us only because they didn't think to ask the monks outright for that information. And on top of all that, we took Shorty away from his home. A home he can never go back to for fear of his life."

Indy was taken aback by her anger. He'd thought things were beginning to improve between them, but instead she had chosen to be furious at him over matters he couldn't control. He wasn't the type who dwelled on "what if", because it was pointless. There was only "what is" and the reality of dealing with whatever life threw at you. It was entirely possible the monks might have sent her off in search of Nurhachi alone if she'd come on this mission without him, but he doubted she'd accept that as a possibility and chose not to voice it to her.

All she could see was needless delay, and was probably feeling the heat of the pursuing Russians. He was about to offer his reassurances that they'd find a way to complete their mission when Shorty approached him with the monks' offer. Without stating why, he told Shorty in no uncertain terms that was out of the question. Some part of him was still upset the monks made him go retrieve Nurhachi before giving him almost no useful information, but another, deeper part of him just wasn't going to leave Shorty here and run off to forget about him again. Indy decided he'd done enough of that in his life.

Shorty was sullen, but he consented to go with them, though he wasn't sure why. He supposed part of him was curious to learn more about these travelers named…

* * *

"Sensei? And Kintaro?" Kim asked, excited, "Seriously?"

"That's what the journal said," Ron nodded, "Their names had been on a parchment in a monastery in China."

"But they never went to China. They were with us that whole time." Kim sounded doubtful of Ron's relayed information.

"Well, Kintaro and Yori were sent off together just before the first battle in the Mutsu Province." Ron recalled, "Maybe they got ahold of the Tempus Simia and took it… no, that can't be right…"

"Yori destroyed the body piece during the final battle, when everything vanished and then reappeared." Kim confirmed.

She was sitting on a shield (the Lotus Blade transformed), on the narrow shelf of ice that protruded above the surface of the water on the far side of the chamber. Millions of eels continued to squirm and writhe while husband and wife huddled together on the elevated patch of ice. Ron was starting to feel seriously tingly, as his battlesuit continued to store the electricity discharged by the eels and was near its storage capacity. He was compelled to climb up onto the ice shelf with Kim in order to avoid soaking up any more of the energy.

They had initially struck up a conversation on how best to escape, but as was often the case between them, the topic meandered and sometimes got off track, until Ron was soon describing everything that had led him to northern Norway and then he had gotten on to the subject of what he'd read in Nana's journal.

Kim was listening intently.

Once was a time when she would have immediately cut him off with the words "Focus, Ron!". In fact, she still did so on occasion. But Kim's experience with her one-time sidekick had taught her that Ron could occasionally hit on the solution to a problem while he chattered; and sometimes it was best to just let him go.

But it was also much more than that. Ron's babbling could be a comfort in times of stress or danger; a calm voice in the white abyss. He'd prattle because he was relaxed, and he was relaxed because he knew Kim was working on a way to escape whatever trap or danger they found themselves in. It spoke of his belief in her abilities, his utterly implicit trust in her. Kim loved her husband, and thus had also come to love his ramblings. It was part of what made him Ron Stoppable, and part of why she loved him so much.

She listened and nodded, and soaked up all the information he told her, and then he fell into an expectant silence.

"So what'd you come up with?" He said after a moment or two.

Kim stood up and looked around, "This cavern had to be dug from below. It couldn't have been dug out like this without machinery, and certainly not from the center opening where the trap door is."

Ron nodded and waited for her to go on.

"See how this wall is slightly uneven while the rest are perfectly smooth?" Kim turned and indicated the wall behind her, "They probably dug this out from here, then pushed the snow and ice up from behind to make this wall."

"Ah!" Ron seemed to realize something, "That's why this shelf is here. It wasn't supposed to be part of the chamber."

Kim nodded, "I'm sure they filled in the entire space on the other side of this wall all the way back to the surface, but I'm willing to bet it was done hastily, which means there will be gaps and pockets, maybe even big enough for us to crawl through."

"OK!" Ron said enthusiastically, "So we change the Lotus into a pick-axe and-"

"Actually," Kim interjected quietly, "I have another idea."

Five minutes later, Ron was back standing in the water, facing the uneven wall. Kim transformed the Lotus into a metal spear and had Ron toss it as hard and as high as he could into the icy surface. Then she crouched as close to the edge of the shelf as she dared and shielded her eyes.

"You sure about this, KP?" Ron asked doubtfully.

"No," Kim responded, "But I don't think a pick-axe will get us out of here in less than ten or fifteen years."

Ron looked from her to the metal spear, and then back to her, then sighed, "Here goes nothing."

He pushed a button on his wrist pad, then raised his arm and flicked his wrist as soon as it was extended outward. Lightning erupted from his outstretched hand as the suit discharged all its stored energy. In an instant, it found Kim's improvised lightning rod and traveled though it into the ice, causing the spear to vibrate at an almost sonic level for a second or two. With a loud crack, icy chunks of the wall collapsed onto the shelf, spilling over it and into the water.

Kim let out a yelp as the small avalanche began pushing her toward the edge. Ron sprinted over – slipping once on an eel and almost going down – and just managed to catch her before she fell. He carried her around the end of the fallen ice to survey their work.

As Kim suspected, there was a hollow space behind what remained of the wall. They scrambled up into it, Kim with much difficulty because she was still in the little black dress, and matching black pumps. Ron called the Lotus Blade to him, and changed it to a pick-axe. Kim indicated a spot where he might try and he began hacking at the rough, inner wall.

"I definitely don't think your grandpa had to get out of messes like this," Ron said as he began to swing the axe, then he stopped and looked at his wife, "You know what? I totally forgot, but just before I got here, Wade told me Dr. Jones had gone missing. He never showed up at his retirement home after Nana's funeral."

"Seriously?" Kim practically gasped.

"Yeah," Ron looked regretful, "I forgot about it because I was concentrating on finding you. Sorry."

"What else did Wade say?"

Ron shook his head, "Only that a missing persons report had been filed on him. That was all the info he had."

Kim uttered a frustrated sigh. She had been planning on getting to know her grandfather better once she had finished reading Nana's journal. Silently, she hoped he was all right…

* * *

Henry Jones Jr., known to many as "Indiana", didn't mind much being an old man. He accepted the inevitability of age with perhaps more grace than most people. Indeed, his life had been extended thanks to his having taken a good long drink from the actual Holy Grail. He wasn't going to be afraid of death when it came for him.

Today, however, he felt old, and he didn't like it. He was being interrogated by a short, stocky man in a crimson helmet who called himself "Dementor". Inwardly he scoffed. Indy didn't understand why grown men would take on silly nicknames in order to… the thought had actually traveled through his mind before he realized the irony. He was definitely getting old. _'Getting'_? Heh, he was definitely already there.

"Tell us where the Ark is, or things will go very badly for you." Dementor growled in an almost pseudo-Bavarian lilt.

"Frankly, just being here means things have already gone badly for me." The old archeologist practically sneered, "What 'Ark' are you talking about?"

Dementor let out a frustrated sigh, "We know you are Doctor Henry Jones, the man who recovered the lost Ark of the Covenant from the archeological site of the city of Tanis in 1936. What we want to know is where the Ark was taken after you handed it over to your government."

"Well, if I handed it over, what makes you think they would tell me where it was stashed?"

"We are aware of your dealings with Major Eaton of Army Intelligence," Dementor growled, "Do not insult us by playing the doddering old fool."

Indy silently wondered where Dementor had gotten his information. Then something the 'Professor' said struck a chord.

"All right," Indy suddenly sounded more like an old man than he had before, "If you really want to know everything…"

"We do," Dementor insisted.

"Well…" Indy seemed to be collecting his thoughts. As ridiculous as this 'Dementor' seemed to be, there was something about him that was unsettling. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd managed to find Indiana Jones in the first place, when so many others had failed. Perhaps it was the initial fright he'd experienced when Dementor's henchmen snatched him from his cab between the airport in Miami and the retirement home where he lived. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that Dementor had certain knowledge that Indy was sure would be a secret forever. How did he know about the Ark at all? Where did he get all his information?

Indy cleared his throat and continued talking, "I suppose it all started when I was in college. I attended the University of Chicago in 19… 19… oh, let's just say it was a hell of a long time ago. Anyway… did you know I was in an Otto Preminger movie once? It was a silent epic. There was an earthquake during production when-"

"What is this gibberish you are telling me?" Dementor demanded.

"You said you wanted to know everything!" Indy adopted what he hoped was a cantankerous old man tone of voice, "Well, I'm telling you everything. And now you made me forget where I was! I'll have to start over…. I suppose it all started when I was in college…"

Indiana suppressed a grin as he watched their eyes glaze over. His 'rambling old man' ploy seemed to be paying off already. They weren't going to actually torture him for the information strictly because of his age. Even villains had grandfathers when they were kids. It was something Indy didn't understand; if he were a vibrant young man tied to the chair, they wouldn't have had any qualms about subjecting him to all sorts of unpleasant procedures. But as it was, none of them seemed to have the stomach to put the elderly archeologist through anything more than a stern interrogation. To Indiana's way of thinking, there really wasn't a difference. A helpless man tied to a chair was a helpless man tied to a chair, regardless of his age.

All these thoughts went through his mind as he continued to babble, wandering through one snippet of his adventures after another, always teasing them with the prospect that he would hit on the subject they were looking for. Of course, he wasn't going to go anywhere near it until they gave him some information first, and even a helpless old man tied to a chair had ways of extracting intelligence from his captors. Indeed, they'd already told him they were looking for the Ark, perhaps the greatest discovery in his archeological career (well, he supposed it was a toss up between that and his discovery of Atlantis), and they wanted to know what had happened to it. Indy would like to have learned that information himself, but…

He let his mind trail off, while still he continued to babble. He realized he was thinking of the mission to discover the whereabouts of a talisman called the Tempus Simia. And those thoughts led to memories of her; both recent and ancient. He was still grieving her loss, and he needed his mind to stay sharp. Yet, he found he couldn't help it. After all, that first mission with her was undertaken because he had been given a chance to study the Ark. Somewhere along the way, his focus had shifted…

* * *

Shorty was stunned. He almost felt as though he had no idea what had just happened. Like he'd witnessed it as a third person, invisible, lurking in the room and observing the proceedings. He seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. And certainly his heart raced as though it wouldn't ever slow down again.

He had to sit down.

"You all right?" Zim asked with much concern in her voice.

"I suppose I will be." Shorty said breathlessly. He tried to commit what had just happened to memory. He knew it would be a moment he'd want to remember the rest of his life. But again, it had all happened so fast. All he could remember were flashes of standing and listening, then repeating the words while his right hand stood straight up in the air, and finally, the General congratulating him and shaking his hand.

Shorty saw another hand extended to him and followed it upward with his eyes until he was looking into the face of Indiana Jones. He reached out numbly and felt the solid grip close around his own hand and shake it almost enthusiastically.

"Congratulations, kid." Indy said quietly.

"I… thanks…" Shorty looked at Zim who smiled back at him, "I don't know what to say."

"You earned it," She said softly, "I don't think there are too many people who have done more to deserve this."

Indy nodded in agreement.

Shorty muttered the words aloud to himself to try and make them sink in, "I am an American Citizen."

They were at the Yokota Air Base twenty-five miles west of Tokyo, Japan. They'd arrived late the night before after a long flight across half of China and the sea of Japan. When they'd touched down, Indy immediately asked Zim if he could talk to her privately, and when they were finished, Zim's mood seemed to have improved measurably. They didn't say a word to Shorty, but the next morning, he was awakened from his sleep by Indiana who said they had an urgent appointment to keep in a couple of hours and to get cleaned up as best he could.

That afternoon, after lunch in the base mess hall, Shorty found himself in the office of Major General David Hewson, the base Commanding Officer, being administered the Oath of Citizenship for the United States of America. Zim had contacted the Commander in Chief of the United States occupying forces stationed in Japan and requested the unusual procedure on the extenuating circumstances of Shorty's efforts helping them recover Nurhachi and assisting in a vital mission being conducted by United States Army Intelligence. The request was cabled to the Department of the Interior in Washington D.C. where it was expedited through red tape based on Zim's security clearance code.

The last thing President Harry Truman did that day before heading off to bed was sign a piece of paper an aid put on his desk in front of him. It was an executive order granting citizenship in the United States to Wan Li, formerly of Shanghai, China. The approved request was cabled back to Japan while Shorty was having lunch with Zim and Indy.

But Shorty's surprises for the day weren't over.

Zim had also arranged for military transport to take him to Guam, then on to San Francisco where he would transfer to a civilian transport and from there, fly to New York. Again, Shorty felt dazed as Indiana dropped a small metallic object into the palm of his hand.

It was a key.

"Make yourself at home in one of the upstairs bedrooms," Indy told him casually, "I telegrammed Marcus, so he knows you're coming, and he'll pick you up at the airport. He should be able to give you a job at the museum between now and the remainder of the summer. And when I get home, we'll talk about finishing up your studies at Barnett College in the fall."

"I… I don't…" Shorty stammered.

Indy gave him a small, dismissive wave, "I should have taken care of this a long time ago. Help yourself to whatever's in the ice box… well, maybe you should just go get fresh food at the market. Marcus will give you a stipend to help you get some clothes and so forth. The rest of the house is yours as well, just, please stay out of my study. I like my mess the way it is."

Shorty fervently embraced a suddenly very uncomfortable Indiana Jones, who reluctantly returned the hug, much to Zim's amusement.

The three of them went into Tokyo that evening to celebrate with dinner and a walk through some of the city's public gardens. Despite the fact that Japan was an occupied country, they found the Japanese extremely courteous almost to the point of being openly friendly. It was clear to Indy that the end of the war was something of a relief for the people of Japan, especially after the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Even Zim seemed a bit more relaxed. She was happy for Shorty. In addition, Indy had explained to her that it might have been beneficial that the monks could only give them a clue to a document that described the whereabouts of the Tempus Simia, instead of giving them the location itself. Without the actual location, the Russians would be no closer to getting the head of the Tempus Simia either, and the next clue to its location was in a country heavily occupied by the U.S. Military. They would have a difficult time getting into Japan by official means, and sneaking in would take quite a bit of time and effort. And wherever the Nazi remnants were, they hadn't been seen, and certainly wouldn't be able to get into Japan either, at least not without much difficulty. Zim saw the logic in this, and decided not to distress herself over the matter until at least the following day, when more could be done to address the issue.

In the morning, Zim and Indy said a fond goodbye to Shorty as he boarded the transport bound for Guam. Since the plane was going to be spending the night there, she asked him to check in on her son, Slim. He promised to do so and bade them farewell, wishing them good luck. Just before he boarded the plane, he turned and looked at them one last time, seemed to notice something, and smiled.

"I don't know when I'll see you again," Zim hollered, waving, "But I promise I'll come and visit you some day."

"Oh, you'll see me again," Shorty said with a grin, "Probably sooner than you think. Don't let him charm you too quickly. He gets bored if they fall for him too soon."

And with that, Shorty stepped into the aircraft, leaving Indy shaking his head in bemusement and Zim…

…Zim was actually blushing.

Fortunately for her, the brightness of the sun seemed to wash out the flush on her cheeks. She'd realized her attitude toward Indy had softened once more when he came to her and proposed the idea of citizenship for Shorty. And she was further touched when he gave Shorty the key to his house. Part of her was actually annoyed by this. It was almost as if he were getting under her skin and there wasn't much she could do about it.

••

That afternoon, after wiring her daily detailed report to Major Eaton, she and Indy were in the Imperial Japanese Archives, researching ancient Japanese history. It was a fusty old building with rows and stacks of books, seemingly in no particular order. Thanks to Zim's clearance levels and military rank, they were each assigned an assistant to help them find what they were looking for. They went into separate departments and decided to meet in a couple of hours time to report what either of them had found.

Indy didn't find much, though he had come across one or two minor mentions of the name 'Sensei'. Zim, on the other hand, had uncovered something very interesting on 'Kintaro'.

"Early during the reign of Emperor Kotei," Zim set several books in front of Indy, one of them was opened to the pertinent information. Indy sat down and put on his spectacles, studying the Japanese characters on the page while she talked, "There was a Shogun by the name of 'Kintaro'."

Indy nodded in agreement without looking up.

"But he did not last long. He retired after only a few years in that position." Zim explained further.

"He retired?" This time Indy looked up at her.

"Translated literally, it says he removed himself voluntarily from the Shogunate." Zim pointed out several Japanese characters bear the bottom of one page. Indy studied them. "It doesn't mention what happened to many of the other Shoguns before or after him."

"For good reason," Indy responded, "'Shogun' was the position of absolute military power in ancient Japan. Not even the Emperor was as powerful, though higher in rank. You were either killed or died in office, because no one would ever want to give up the Shogunate. What happened to this 'Kintaro'?"

"Two texts mentioned that he went to live at some combat training school on Mt. Yamanuchi and was never heard from again. But there's something else."

Indy took a mental note and waited for her to continue.

Zim handed him a book of ancient Japanese mythology. "This is mostly about folklore and old legends. But it does mention Emperor Kotei, as well as Kintaro and a war against a demon army."

Indy nodded dismissively, "Sounds like folklore to me."

Zim continued, undeterred, "The book says a demon army of _monkeys_ was subjugated by a tyrannical provincial lord who attempted to overthrow the Emperor. Legend had it the tale of this war was inscribed on something called the 'Stone of Sakujitsu', but oral histories noted the stone was lost, and so the legend was passed from generation to generation."

"Sakujitsu Ishi." Indy muttered, half to himself. He was listening to her very seriously now.

"Did I get another translation wrong?" Zim asked tentatively.

"Huh?" Indy looked back up at her again, "No, of course not. In fact you did an excellent job. You found out a lot more than I was able to…"

He said it so casually that she knew instantly he really did mean it, and he wasn't being condescending or trying to butter her up. She almost found herself blushing again. Fortunately for her, Indy was still talking."

"…likely isn't a stone in the sense that we might think of a stone. But it's probably a tablet of some sort."

"That makes sense." Zim agreed.

Indy shook his head, "Something's not right here…"

He motioned for her to come sit by him as he took one of the other books she had brought and began leafing through it. Every now and then he would stop at a page and read for a bit, then continue leafing though the volume. Zim found herself fascinated, watching him work; the concentration and drive with which he studied the pages was intriguing. It was as if nothing else existed… and it dawned on her. This was who he was. He didn't just approach research with a singular focus, this was how he approached everything about archeology. It was the reason why people seemed to come and go in his life and he lost track of his closest relationships. He had a drive, an all-consuming need within him to discover the secrets of the deep past, to solve the puzzles of ancient civilizations, to know and understand the existence of man in times before present. He conducted himself in life much in the same way he was conducting himself here at the research table. All that mattered was finding the answers. He knew they were there, he just had to persevere long enough to uncover them.

And when he did find those answers, as Zim observed a few minutes later, it was almost as if he were transformed into some sort of giddy schoolboy.

"Look!" Indy said excitedly sliding the book over to rest between them. "Here is the estimated time of the reign of Emperor Kotei, when Kintaro was Shogun. Ancient Japanese custom indicates that names among royalty or aristocracy were reserved strictly for those who held such positions. Peasants were only allowed to use given names for commoners, and they were never allowed to name their children 'after' anyone. Furthermore, specific names were held within families and lineages and were never passed to other aristocratic family lines."

"OK," Zim said slowly, making sure she was tracking with him, "So there would only be three or four 'Kintaro's' in a family line over a period of, say, a hundred years or so."

"Longer than that," Indy nodded, "And never two of the same name near the same time. But look, Emperor Kotei's reign begins right around the year 400 A.D. which is when Kintaro was Shogun. But here…"

Indy flipped through a few pages in his notepad until he found the right one.

"…here we have an elderly man supposedly by the name of Kintaro traveling to China roughly forty years _before_ the Shogun of the same name came to power. Now, since we know the name was probably not duplicated, the person who traveled to Japan was either using a false name, or…" He waited for Zim to finish his thought.

And it dawned on her, "Or they're the same person. Maybe that's why Kintaro removed himself from the Shogun position, because he was so old by that time."

"But that's just it," Indy explained, "No one becomes Shogun in their old age. Only warriors of considerable fighting prowess and strength could ever attain the position."

Further realization dawned on Zim, "You think this 'Kintaro' found the Tempus Simia and went back in time?"

Indy nodded, "I'm not sure why yet, but that's why he removed himself from the Shogunate, and ultimately, that's probably why he 'disappeared'. He found this talisman and used. Then he was either afraid of its power or didn't want anyone else to possess it, so he and his two companions traveled to China forty years _earlier_ where they asked the monks there to help disperse the head and body."

"And you really think there's actual power in this Tempus Simia?" Zim asked doubtfully.

"Lieutenant, I have seen things in my lifetime that make me believe just about anything is possible. A stone monkey opening a doorway through time is actually one of the more believable concepts I've run across." Indy mused. "In fact sometimes I-"

"Indy." Zim said quietly.

Since it was only the second time she had called him that, he cut himself off abruptly and waited for her to speak.

"I think he was trying to hide a weapon."

"Huh?"

It was clear Zim's mind was working furiously, as evidenced by the look of fierce concentration on her face, "Say this 'demon monkey' army was originally in possession of the Tempus Simia, and used it to try and overthrow the Emperor as well as conquer Japan. But Kintaro somehow comes into its possession; he captures it in a battle or has one of his warriors sneak into enemy territory and steal it."

"OK," Indy said, nodding, "He gets ahold of it, travels back in time… why would he take it to China?"

Zim's tone became more fervent, "To keep it out of enemy hands, he not only scattered the pieces, but scattered them in the past and across the ocean. For some reason, a detailed account of the Tempus Simia, how it works, and the story behind it was composed and sent back to Japan with Kintaro and his two companions. But this 'account' had dangerous knowledge, not only of the Tempus Simia, but of future events as well. At least, the future from the point where he traveled to China."

"Information..." Indy said with some wonder in his voice, "Information he wouldn't want to destroy, in case he needed it when the war came back around again. But, he wouldn't want that information to get out."

"And if this Sakujitsu Stone had details of that war, it might also contain details about the Tempus Simia." Zim was talking as if she was just about to solve a puzzle, "That's information he might not want to destroy, in case he or one of his companions – this 'Sensei', or the other one - needed it in the future, but as you said, he wouldn't want that information to be widely known."

Indy looked at her with amazement, finally realizing where her thought train was headed, "The Sakajitsu Stone wasn't lost, it was hidden! And it was probably hidden away with the account of the Tempus Simia! Either by a very old Kintaro, or one of his companions!"

"If you can find that stone, then we should be able to find the location of the head-piece of the Tempus Simia!" Zim was getting caught up in the excitement.

The air suddenly seemed charged with a palpable layer of electricity. Their eyes locked, and the smiles vanished from their faces. Adrenaline coursed through both of them, as much from the atmosphere of excitement as from something deeper, unexplainable. Even Indy, in all his experience, was feeling something entirely new. But at the same instant, they both looked away, and the moment was broken. He quickly looked down at his notepad while she pretended to straighten the books on the table.

"Where do you think we should begin the search?" She asked rather shyly after a moment.

Indy composed himself and thought for a few seconds. He dug a map out of the pile of papers and books, studied it for a bit and then pointed, "Here."

* * *

"What does ancient Japan have to do with the ARK OF THE COVENANT?" Dementor was practically screaming by the end of his sentence, sounding much like his old self.

"Nothing!" Indiana Jones snapped, "I was talking about the Tempus Simia! Since when were we talking about the Ark of the Covenant?"

"Since ALWAYS!" Dementor yelled in anger.

Indy narrowed his eyes at the short Bavarian, "Are you sure about that, sonny? Why would we be talking about the Ark of the Covenant?"

"Because I am trying to FIND IT!"

"Um… Professor?" the one Indy heard them call 'Locke' was speaking now, "I don't see any need to-"

"I mean, if it's the Ark you wanna hear about…" Indy said quickly, he could tell Locke was trying to get Dementor not to spill any information.

"OF COURSE IT IS!"

"Because you want to sell it on this 'E-Bay' I hear the kids talking about?"

"No! You doddering old FOOL! Why would I want to sell something that makes an army INVINCIBLE?"

'_Plot to conquer the world_' Indy concluded to himself, then sized up Locke and instantly recognized him as the more intelligent, more dangerous man, though he also seemed to occupy a position subordinate to Dementor. '_They don't know where it is. But how did they know to come ask me about it?'_

Inwardly, Indy was congratulating himself on his ability to extract information from those who were holding him captive. It probably would have been something of a blow to his ego had he known that in his granddaughter's day and age, the bad guys spilled their plans as a matter of routine. In his time, no self-respecting Nazi or Thugee would have given up information so easily. Well, Mola Ram liked to blather on, but like most cult leaders, he loved the sound of his own voice. But overall, they just don't make villains like they used to.

"I told you he doesn't know anything." Locke snarled quietly at Dementor, "We shouldn't have disposed of the girl so hastily."

"Kim Possible received the fate SHE SO RICHLY DESERVED!" Dementor had lost all his patience.

'_My granddaughter. This guy used to be one of her foes, and he found me through her somehow. If she's dead because of me...' _Indy was filled with a cold resolve.

He watched as Locke stood and drew himself up to full height, glaring down at Dementor. Dementor seemed unimpressed.

"We should leave now. Global Justice is bound to come looking for its missing agents." Locke growled.

"Fine." Dementor said with a dismissive wave, "Hoverjet 3 is already warming up and standing by. We'll bring Dr. Jones with us."

"Oh, don't go to any trouble," Indy snarked, "I can wait here for the next bus."

Neither villain acknowledged his remark. Silently, Indy hoped his granddaughter was OK…

* * *

Kim's teeth had been chattering for a good half hour, even when she took turns with the pick-axe. She told Ron that had to be a good sign, being colder, because it meant the air was circulating and it had to be circulating from somewhere.

After awhile, however, Kim was shivering so much she couldn't swing the Blade anymore and Ron had to take up the duties, though every five minutes or so he would stop and rub her bare arms and legs vigorously to keep her circulation going and warm her up a little.

For several hours, as they worked and began snaking their way through what had clearly been a hastily filled-in service ramp. The light from the main cavern grew dimmer and dimmer, but at some point, Ron began to realize it didn't get completely dark, but rather stayed a very dim gray. He would break through a wall, or clear away an ice boulder and they would find yet another pocket-like chamber; some large, others without enough room for both of them to fit into. Little by little they snaked, scrambled, hacked and dug their way upward until at one point, Ron found a rough wall, off-centered by a large chunk of ice around which thinner layers of ice seemed to be holding it in place. There was a dull sort of rumble coming from the other side of the wall. He transformed the Lotus into a pike and hacked away at the thinner ice until the large boulder-like chunk seemed to settle a little. Then he and Kim pushed as hard as they could, forcing the boulder forward when, to their surprise, it fell away in front of them and rolled a few feet down a small incline.

Kim and Ron Stoppable stood gazing and shivering in the early dawn of a dim, gray morning, the last traces of stars hanging in the dying remains of the previous night.

At the bottom of the incline was a small metallic building. If it had windows, none were facing in their direction. Twenty yards or so beyond that was a clear space in the open tundra where a large aircraft, bristling with weapons, was idling. This was the source of the rumble they heard. It's engines were emitting a low, roaring sort of whine. Near the craft was a large snow cat; a vehicle with tank-like tracks that travels across snowy surfaces. It held several more metallic drums as well as a pump and one or two other pieces of equipment. To their right was a marked roadway that led around the hill and out of sight. They crept down the incline and reached the rear of the building just in time to see someone emerge from the far side, walking in the direction of the aircraft.

Next to the small building were several metallic barrels, presumably full of fuel for the jet. No one else seemed to be in the vicinity.

"Looks like they're getting ready to fly out of here." Ron observed.

"When they do," Kim said through chattering teeth, "We're already gonna be on the plane."

Ron was about to remind her the Ninjet was parked beneath the surface of the ocean not too far away when he realized Kim had already crept around the fuel drums and was moving off in stealthy pursuit of the man who had just come out of the building.

"Kim!" Ron hissed as loud as he could. She either couldn't hear him or chose not to. He returned the Lotus Blade to its place on his back and stealthily moved off after her.

Whoever he was, the man seemed to be some sort of pilot or mechanic. The noise of the engines masked Kim's crunching feet in the snow, so he whirled around quite startled when he heard a female voice ask:

"Hi! Does Santa Clause live around here?"

He took a fist in the face and went down in a heap. Kim shook her hand vigorously, having forgotten how painful it is to hit someone when your extremities are freezing cold. Kim began stripping the single piece jumpsuit from the unconscious man and had it almost all the way off by the time Ron caught up to her.

"Help me with this!" She practically demanded.

"OK," Ron said, looking around warily, "But then we need to go. And not on this plane! We'll follow them in the Ninjet."

"I thought they had it." Kim looked at him with a blank stare.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, I mean, you _did _get captured. I figured they got the jet, too."

"Thanks a lot," Ron said wryly, "Nice to know my wife has such faith in my abilities."

"Sorry," Kim said sheepishly, "It's just, you know, kind of how this thing works. You get captured, I rescue you."

"Since when?"

"Are you kidding me?" Kim looked at him blankly again, "Motor Ed, Drakken – like, a bunch of times –"

"Hey, I came and rescued you from Drakken too, you know. 'Wisconsin' ring a bell?"

Kim continued on like she hadn't heard him, "Dementor, Killagin, Monkey Fist… in high school and in ancient Japan…"

As she spoke, she put on the one piece flight suit as well as the unconscious man's boots. She was already beginning to warm up when she pulled the laces tight on the footwear.

"OK, Let's go." Ron turned to leave.

"We can't leave this guy out here like this." Kim insisted, "He'll freeze to death."

Ron rolled his eyes and uttered a frustrated grunt. He stooped and picked up the unconscious man, hefting him up over one shoulder.

"I'll put him in that weapons turret up top. Hopefully no one will find him until we're a good ways away from here."

With Kim's help, he lugged the man up onto one of the wings, then climbed up after him and picked him up by the feet, dragging him toward the fuselage. Once there, he hauled the man up to the roof of the craft, near a bubble-like plexi-glass dome that protruded upward from the sleek jet. Ron opened the enclosure, climbed inside, and pulled the still unconscious man in after him, stuffing him as far down on to the floor and out of sight as possible.

As Ron was maneuvering his burden, one of the man's feet bumped unseen against a control knob and the domed enclosure slid silently closed. Ron, noticing the sound of the jet had suddenly muffled, looked up. He pushed against the dome several times but it didn't budge. Looking down at the nearby control panel, he was dismayed to see hundreds and hundreds of buttons, knobs and switches. None of them were marked with anything that looked like an "open/close" indicator.

Kim, who had been watching Ron intently, was startled by a voice.

"Havm gar det?"

Kim spun around and found herself looking at what was clearly a mechanic. He had a very large wrench clenched in one fist.

"Ka er navnet dit?" the mechanic demanded.

Kim didn't speak much Norwegian, which is to say she didn't really speak any.

Sheepishly, she began to raise her hands in a gesture of surrender. The mechanic relaxed slightly, and Kim's foot connected with his jaw before he realized what was happening. He went sprawling, but scrambled to his feet and swung the huge wrench at her head. Kim ducked and landed a solid left to the side of his face, driving him to his knees. He swung the wrench at her midsection, which she just barely managed to avoid by jumping backward. The mechanic found his feet again and charged, brandishing the enormous wrench above his head. Kim stepped back and ducked beneath the wing of the jet just as the wrench came sailing downward, connecting with the wing with a loud '_thunk_'. For the split second his hands were wrapped around the wrench, Kim drove her right fist into his midsection, doubling him over. Her left hand snaked out and grappled the wrist of the mechanic's right hand which now clutched the wrench.

"KIM!" Ron practically shrieked as he watched the struggle. He transformed the Lotus Blade into a large sledge hammer and slammed it against the dome a few times, but no luck. It didn't even crack.

Kim pushed against the man's arm until the instant she felt resistance, then used his strength as well as hers to pull the arm forward and bring the knuckles slamming into the wing of the plane. With a yelp, the mechanic dropped the wrench and clutched his hand. Kim reared back and thundered a solid right into his face and sent him sprawling into the snow. He didn't get up again.

She began climbing on to the wing of the plane when she heard yet another voice behind her. Though she was sure he was speaking Norwegian, his voice was muffled by the whine of the engines. She dropped to the ground and turned. Then her jaw dropped to the snow.

Before her stood an enormous brute of a man, at least six and a half feet tall. He had a barrel chest, and his bulging muscles showed even through his heavy jacket. His face was covered with a thick, shaggy beard, and wild, curly hair protruded from the rim of the hood of his parka. There was an immense grin on his face that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. In a challenging manner, he gestured at her to come toward him

Kim's face fell. She couldn't remember the last time she'd _seen_ someone so burly, much less fought anyone this huge. Wearily, she put up her fists and took two tentative steps toward him, then she seemed to spy something in the snow near the man's feet. She looked down intently, and then pointed. The large man's gaze followed. With all her strength, Kim heaved her right foot up into the brute's midsection.

He wasn't even phased.

Hesitating, she threw a right hook at him which he dodged easily. The momentum of her swing spun her, and when she came back around, he drove a quick left into her face. Kim's knees buckled beneath her and she sat down hard in the snow, spitting a little blood.

Ron was frantically banging against the plexi-glass dome with the sledge hammer.

The huge thug reached down and grasped Kim by the flight suit, hauling her roughly to her feet. As she came up, she swept back the sleeve of his right arm and sank her teeth into his bare skin. The massive henchman let out a guttural roar of rage and pain as he tossed her under the wing of the plane like a rag doll. He came at her. Kim scooted around the landing gear and almost ran into the forward intake section of the left engine. She scrambled back around the other side of the landing gear, and took a hard right punch to the jaw which sent her spinning out from under the wing on the near side of the air craft. Another punch sent her sprawling. When she came up, she had a fist full of hardened, crystallized snow which she scattered into the giant's eyes. He raised his hands and she tried to move away from him.

Ron stopped hammering against the dome when Kim disappeared under the aircraft, then leaned forward to see better when she re-emerged. As he did so, he inadvertently knocked some control or switch. The engine on the left side of the aircraft powered up slightly, and the plane slowly began to rotate in place.

Ron sat back in the weapons turret and tried to find which control he had bumped into. Abstractly, he also wondered why there would be engine controls in a weapons turret, but pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind.

Blinded for an instant, the goon's left fist lashed out un-aimed and caught Kim in the midsection, causing her to double over.

As he looked around the interior of the turret, Ron caught movement in the corner of his eye. A large, fast-moving snow cat loaded with henchmen was just turning from the road into the cleared space around the jet. It circled around the far side of the aircraft and moved toward the building. The men in back of the vehicle were yelling and pointing. For as many of the controls that Ron didn't recognize, it wasn't too hard to figure out what the gun-grip style handles directly in front of him were for. He leaned forward, flipped a couple of switches and pulled both triggers, swiveling the turret around to face the vehicle. Short-burst plasma beams spewed forth in a searing, reddish rapid-fire of blazing death. Miniature explosions erupted on the snow cat wherever the plasma bursts struck. In a few seconds, everyone on the vehicle was vaporized.

The aircraft continued slowly rotating in place.

Ron felt the hoverjet lurch slightly and looked over his left shoulder. The wing on that side of the plane had knocked the fuel drums from the back of the snow cat parked nearby. Fuel began spilling out onto the snow and ice in a thin, reddish trail. More henchmen, attracted by the noise of the weapon, began streaming out of the nearby building. Ron sprayed the area with plasma bursts, vaporizing henchmen, and destroying the building in the process.

Kim, meanwhile, was scooting along the ground beneath the aircraft, having spied the huge wrench and attempting to retrieve it. She got there just in time for the landing gear to roll over it. She had no time to wait, however, as the giant Norwegian thug came at her again. She scrambled away.

Ron spied several henchmen cowering behind the fuel drums near what was left of the building and hammered the area with plasma bursts. One burst obliterated a fuel drum and the ensuing explosion consumed the other barrels, which erupted in a huge orange fireball.

••

At the compound, Dementor and Bill Locke came running from the main building in time to see an orange and black plume billowing up from behind the hill.

Locke turned to several of his henchmen who were preparing to go investigate. "Stay with Dr. Jones!" he commanded.

Then he and Dementor moved off in the direction of the explosion.

••

Kim came around the rear of the aircraft, dodging and weaving away from the goon's lunging punches, as well as ducking under the wings of the slowly turning plane. Then she skidded to a halt, staring at the overturned drums of fuel, and the pale red tendrils of gasoline that ran in rivulets beneath the plane toward the remains of the building.

Ron saw it at the same time, "So not cool!"

"Ron!" Kim breathed and climbed up on to the wing of the plane.

The huge thug climbed up after her.

Kim scrambled over to the weapons turret and looked inside.

"Kim!" Ron hollered, looking past her. She spun around and just managed to avoid a roundhouse swing from her opponent. They squared off. Kim attempted to punch him, but the goon easily blocked it and delivered a solid right to her face, knocking her over and sending her tumbling off the wing, back to the frozen, snowy surface below. The colossal thug jumped off the wing after her, hauled her roughly up once more, and delivered several quick punches to her face and body.

She lost it.

Up to that point Kim had been trying to fight the behemoth on his terms, attempting to match him strength for strength, move for move. But that last punch infuriated her more than injured her. She was fed up with this dance, and she wanted to go home.

Kim Possible opened up a can of Monkey Kung Fu on his giant Norwegian ass.

She charged straight for him. He set himself in a slightly defensive stance, his arms level with his abdomen. Kim uttered a snarl of rage and leaped, catapulting upward off his stiffened arm with her left foot and bringing her right full into his face, causing his head to jerk backward. As she did this, she threw her head back, somersaulting backward with her arms outstretched. Kim came over and caught his head as it recoiled, for an instant looking almost as if she were doing a handstand on his shoulders. As she continued her somersault, she linked her hands behind his head and began to curl up into a ball. The effect of this was twofold. Her knees slammed into his midsection right at the diaphragm, knocking the wind from him. And the unexpected weight on his neck caused him to fall forward. Kim unlinked her hands and pushed off his chest with her feet, tumbling to the snow just ahead of his collapsing form. He came up winded, bloody, and dazed. She was already on her feet. Again she came at him, and from his perspective, it was almost as if he'd been set upon by an auburn-haired tornado. She leaped and spun, driving her right foot into his jaw, then landed and stepped into him, bringing her left elbow up as she continued spinning, slamming it into his chin, then, still spinning, brought her right fist around, barreling it into his jaw once more. Finally, she pivoted on her left foot, bringing up her right again, but this time he caught it, pulled her toward him, and drove a fist into her face. She went sprawling backward.

The aircraft was still rotating in place.

The goon stood there, his fists clenched, and waited for her to get up. Kim took one look at him and curled up into a ball, covering her head protectively. Startled, the brute turned around just in time to see the forward intake-end of the powered-up left engine bearing down upon him. Before he could react, he was sucked into the turbine.

Not much came out the other side.

Kim scrambled once more up on to the wing of the plane. Ron stared helplessly as the thin reddish lines of fuel began snaking their way into the burning wreckage of the building. Then his heart seemed to stop beating altogether as a tiny wall of flame raced back along the streams of fuel.

"Ron!" came Kim's muffled voice from beyond the dome of the turret, "Hold up the Blade!"

Ron did as he was told. Kim used her mystical monkey power to transform the Lotus into a pike with a very sharp point at one end, then she called the Blade to her. It shattered through the plexi-glass and sailed into her grasp.

"Get back." She ordered.

Ron moved away from the thumb-sized hole in the dome while Kim turned the Blade into a pick-axe and began working on the space around the break in the turret. Soon she had smashed a hole big enough for Ron to squeeze through, and together they leaped from the wing of the plane just as the racing line of fire reached the snow cat. They raced across the flat expanse, past the burning building and around the right side of the hill, away from the road and the main compound.

With a thunderous explosion, the snow cat erupted in a gigantic orange fireball, throwing burning debris in all directions. Several flaming metallic chunks tore through the hoverjet, including the fuel tanks housed in the wings. Several seconds later, the aircraft was obliterated in its own massive conflagration.

••

Locke and Dementor stood and stared in disbelief at the flaming wreckage. Several of Dementor's henchmen stood agape, unsure of what they should be doing. Their boss was.

"Get Dr. Jones into the remaining snow cat." He ordered them, "We'll travel to the north end of the island and take a boat to the mainland. Have someone meet us there with a secure vehicle. And get the remaining hoverjets off the island as soon as possible!"

Locke moved through piles of burning debris, a look of disbelief was still on his face, though he was certain what - or rather who - had just happened here.

"Stoppable", he muttered through clenched teeth, then began heading back toward the main compound.

••

Kim and Ron made their way back to the Ninjet, and Ron piloted it out beyond the defense perimeter then contacted a very worried Wade. They had Wade keep a close eye on the islands for departing aircraft. There were two, and Team Possible pursued and apprehended them both with the help of a couple of GJ hoverjets loaded with agents. But they discovered the villain's aircraft were merely filled with henchmen. Neither Dementor nor Locke were aboard either jet. Ron mentally berated himself for not anticipating the possibility of decoys, especially since they'd already pulled that trick on him.

There was nothing left to do now but return home and wait for Locke or Dementor to make an appearance again. Ron hoped that when they did, it wouldn't be too late to stop them from whatever they were going to attempt; for his sake, for Kim's and for her brother's.

Kim fell asleep almost the second they set a course for home, but Ron was still wide awake, turning over the events of the last few days in his mind. Eventually he set those aside and picked up Nana's journal. He practically had a heart attack during the first paragraph…

* * *

If the task at hand had not been so urgent, Zim and Indy would have otherwise enjoyed their journey that day. The countryside was beautiful, and seemed to become only more so the higher they climbed. The air was cool, the sky was a bright blue, birds sang and scampered among the trees. Eventually, the dull roar of a waterfall gradually filled their ears until their path led them right up to it. Zim stood wondering why the trail would just seem to dead-end at the falls, but Indy had some experience in hidden entrances and secret passageways. He skirted around the right hand side and stepped behind the cascading water. Zim followed.

Behind the falls, a narrow passageway led through a tunnel and emerged at the edge of a high cliff. A small, rudimentary foot bridge spanned a deep canyon from which rose the rumble of the river below. The bridge stretched toward a monolithic outcropping of rock in the center of the canyon, then another spanned from it to a monastic-looking set of buildings surrounded by a wall on the far side of the canyon, nestled against a cliff.

The buildings were ancient. Indy could tell right off they were better then a thousand years old.

They made their way across the swaying yet sturdy bridges to the gates on the far side of the canyon. There seemed to be no bells or knockers attached to the gates, so Indy balled up a fist and rapped as loud as he could.

Silence.

Indy knocked again.

Instead of the gates opening, a figure clad entirely in black appeared at the top of the wall.

"Ninja," Zim whispered and took up a combat-ready stance.

"Would you relax?" Indy muttered, "This is a secret ninja training school."

"When were you going to tell me this?" Zim hissed.

"I only figured it out just now," Indy hissed back, "You said this was a combat training school. There is a ninja right there. 'Ninja' plus 'combat training school' equals 'Ninja training school.'

Zim wanted to punch him just for his smugly condescending tone of voice.

"Konichi wa!" Indy said pleasantly to the dark-clad assassin.

The ninja disappeared back into the compound. Several seconds later, the gates slowly opened. Indy stood easily; relaxed but ready for anything. Zim was a bit more tensed up. She was not in a combat-ready stance, but her fists were clenched.

Inside the gates, no one moved, though there were plenty of people standing about. All eyes were on the outsiders, and everyone was dressed in either white or black ninja-style garb. A very old, but very spry looking man emerged from the group and made his way toward them. He bowed stiffly. When he straightened up, he gazed at Indy impassively. However, when his eyes fell on Zim, Indy noticed a glimmer of something, almost as if he had recognized her.

"Konichi wa," The old man said, then spoke very rough English, "You are lost? I can assist you?"

"Perhaps," Indy spoke quietly in Japanese, "But we are not lost. We have come seeking information. Is there somewhere we may speak?"

The old man nodded slightly and turned to lead them away. He issued a quick command to those who were staring and reluctantly, each of the ninjas resumed what they had been doing before the gates opened; exercising, sparring, or training in various forms of combat.

"My name is Indiana Jones," he said to the old man's back, "I am an archeologist from the United States. This is my associate, Lieutenant Johnson of the United States Army."

"I am Sensei," The old man said simply.

Zim and Indy exchanged a look, but said nothing aloud. They were led through the compound to one of the smaller buildings near the cliff. Just before going inside, Indy noticed the old man's head turn slightly in the direction of the cliff, as though he were about to look at something, but changed his mind. Indy's instincts caused him to scan the cliff side, and if he hadn't been looking intently with an eye trained to spot detail, he probably would have missed it altogether. There was a rough sort of ladder/stairway that led up the cliff to a small doorway about midway up the rock face. Indy made a mental note and followed Sensei inside.

They sat on the floor around a small table. Sensei had one of his students serve them tea and then waited for them to speak.

"We're here in search of a great warrior." Zim opened up the conversation.

"Wars do not make one great." Sensei replied cryptically.

"We're searching for information about a military leader in Japan's ancient history; a Shogun by the name of Kintaro." Indy said.

Sensei's face remained unmoved, but Indy noticed a certain twitch around the eyes; very slight, almost imperceptible. The old man knew something, but wasn't about to share it with them.

"Kintaro was a student at this school hundreds of years ago," Sensei nodded, "It is my understanding that a rather serious war was waged during his time as Shogun."

"We have learned this as well," Indy said calmly, "But we also learned something interesting about him after his service as Japan's military ruler. It seems he came to live out the rest of his days here, and was never heard from again."

The old man nodded, "When he relinquished his position as Shogun, he had grown weary of conflict."

"Understandable," Indy pressed, "May I inquire as to how you know all this? Are there historical records at this school? And if so, may we look at them?"

"Yamanuchi has a long and proud history," Sensei said without hesitating, "But we keep no written record of it. Our traditions are passed down through the generations along with the time honored methods of instruction in the ways of ninjitsu."

"Then we would be honored as well as grateful," Zim said softly, "If you would share some of this history with us. Could you tell us more about Kintaro?"

Again, Indy noticed the slight twinkle of recognition in old man's eye.

Sensei nodded, "Kintaro was the son of a provincial lord named Hidesato. During his time, a lord from one of the southern provinces took up a campaign to overthrow the Emperor and seize control of Japan for himself…"

For the next two hours, Sensei told them of Hidesato, of Kintaro, of the Zuijen warriors, of a mysterious warrior woman they called Raitaro. He told them nothing of Monkey Fist, or dragons, or stone gorilla warriors. He spoke of Lord Ishigawa and how his army had become proficient at the art of winning battles. Many of the peasants believed Ishigawa to be a demon of some sort. Sensei told them that in those days, the Satsuma province had a tall statue of a monkey just north of its capital that was called the 'Guardian'. Everyone came to associate this image with Ishigawa's forces, and thus they were known as an army of demon monkeys.

Indy listened with keen interest, not to what Sensei was saying, but to what he was not saying. There was too much detail in certain places, while other parts of the story were vague and glossed over. There was much more to this 'demon monkey army' than a mere nickname bestowed by the Japanese peasantry. And there was something else. Indiana Jones had spent a lifetime deciphering stories, histories, legends, tales, myth, etc. His mind knew instinctively when he was hearing fact, and when facts were being omitted. But he also knew the difference between a recitation and a remembrance. To his mind, Sensei was not reciting a story passed down through generations, he was actually _recalling_ some of the events he told them about.

When he had reached the end of his tale, Sensei informed them it was time for him to retire for the evening, but they were welcome to stay for the night, and return back down the mountain in the morning. With that, he departed from their company.

Zim and Indy were given separate quarters. They talked briefly, but Indy kept most of his thoughts to himself. After a time they bade each other good night and went to sleep.

••

There were no lanterns lit this night. All was completely dark, save for the dim light offered by the stars in the clear nocturne sky. That was fine with him. In a school full of Ninjas, he'd need every advantage to move about unseen.

Indy had slipped out the window of his room and hauled himself up to the roof of the low structure. Creeping across to the other side, he took out his whip. He squinted in the darkness to judge the distance between himself and the tree, pulled his fedora down tightly over his head, and lashed out. He winced at the slight cracking sound the whip made as it secured itself to the branch, then he tugged on it once or twice, and leaped from the roof. It was difficult to judge distance and depth in such dark conditions, and so it was with a surprised grunt that Indy smacked against the face of the cliff. He caught a hand hold, steadied himself on the rock face and loosened the whip from the branch, coiling it up and returning it to its familiar place at his side.

For the next hour and a half, he slowly made his way up the cliff, meticulously feeling out each handhold and footfall of the crude stairway. Like a leather-clad beetle scrambling its way carefully up a wall, Indy picked and crawled ever upward toward the small opening in the side of the rock face above him.

All of what he had seen and heard that day led him to a conclusion he was almost sure was correct: the room above him was the hiding place for the Stone of Sakujitsu.

At the end of his ninety minute climb, he pulled himself up on to the narrow ledge, turned to make sure no one was below and then crept into the chamber. Once inside, he took a match from his pocket and struck it…

…and nearly let out a startled yell.

There were people in the room.

To his right were two women, sitting on low stones facing the wall. One of them was Japanese, or at least Asian. The other was Caucasian with long auburn hair.

To his left was a larger, stranger group of people. Everyone seemed very lifelike, but somehow frozen in place, as though they were the most realistic sculptures ever created. There were eight of them on that side; four men and four women, though they were not facing the wall, they were staring at the two women across the room. One of the men was also Japanese, as was one of the women. Then there were two women with odd colored skin – Indy could only assume they were Caucasian – one with a pale green pigment and the other with pale turquoise skin; both with jet-black hair. One of the men had blue skin, while two of the others seemed to be dressed in some kind of skin-tight clothing. There was an auburn-haired female on this side of the room as well-

Indy did a double take.

This red-haired woman, as well as the Japanese woman, were either the same, or identical copies of the two women sitting on the stones.

The match burned his fingers, causing him to drop it. The chamber was once more enveloped in complete darkness.

Before he could re-light it. He was startled by a voice.

"You should not be in here."

Indy scrambled for another match and lit it, illuminating the chamber, the faces of the people, and the stern face of Sensei, who was gazing at him impassively.

"What is this place?" Indy asked, curiosity burning within him. "Are these people alive?"

"That is not your concern," Sensei replied, "Please leave this place or I will be compelled to remove you."

Indy didn't doubt the other man's word. He might omit facts, but the archeologist believed the old warrior would never outright lie about something like this.

"You're immortal, aren't you?" Indy asked outright. "I've met others like you."

Sensei's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"You're the same Sensei spoken of in the books, the same one who's lived here probably a thousand years or more," Indy pressed, "Is the Stone of Sakajitsu here?"

Sensei said nothing for several seconds. Then simply: "You are very perceptive."

Indy looked around at the faces of the frozen people, "I don't want to disturb whatever secret you are protecting here. But you should know that some very dangerous people are searching for the Tempus Simia, and I am trying to prevent them from getting their hands on it."

"It is unlikely they will ever-"

"They already have the body, and are now simply searching for the head-piece." Indy cut him off.

Sensei was silent again. He believed the archeologist was being honest, at least about this.

"I am afraid there is not much I can tell you. I deliberately did not pay attention to the details of where the Tempus Simia was being taken, as it was not my place to know. And I will not tell you of the events that transpired between Kintaro and his companions"

"Who are they?" Indy changed the subject, curious about the chamber. The red-haired woman looked oddly familiar. Something about the eyes…

"As I told you-"

"Right, you won't tell me." Indy nodded quickly, "All right, can you at least tell me where the head-piece of the Tempus Simia is located?"

"That I do not know." Sensei said matter-of-factly.

"Wasn't the location written on the detailed account of the Tempus Simia you brought back from China?" Indy queried innocently.

"The final locations were not known. However, details of the direction they were taken were noted in the account you speak of. As I said, I deliberately do not know what is contained in that account."

Indy's face fell.

"I can tell you this," Sensei allowed, "That account, as well as the stone you call Sakajitsu, were given to Emperor Kotei for safe keeping when the time was right."

"And told to keep it secret, as well as safe," Indy surmised.

Sensei nodded, "He did not need to be told. He was well aware of the dangerous nature of the information. But he was unwilling to destroy it altogether. The monks in China made it clear that if someone evil came into its possession, then the knowledge would be needed to deal with them. Kotei agreed with this."

Indy nodded, "The castle at Osaka. That was the seat of power in Japan in those days."

"The stone is probably still there." Sensei agreed. "And the account we brought back from China will likely be with it."

During the course of the conversation, Indy had struck several matches to keep the place lit. He took one last look around, then returned his gaze to Sensei.

"If I have offended you by coming here, then I am sorry."

Sensei nodded his head, "I am also at fault, I should have not been so mistrusting of you earlier."

"And I should have told you what we were ultimately in search of," Indy replied.

Neither of them said another word. Indy stood up, and together, they descended the rough stairway to the main grounds of the school below.

••

In the morning, Indy told Zim everything, including the details about Sensei's seeming immortality, as well as the 'frozen' people in the chamber on the cliff.

"You don't think they're trapped here, do you?" Zim asked after he was finished talking.

Indy shook his head, "He would have hidden them better if that was the case. He seemed agitated that I was in the chamber, but once I asked him about his 'longevity', he seemed to relax a bit. He knew he could trust me with such secrets. And I didn't have a problem telling you because you're whole life is one big 'Top Secret' file."

Zim grinned but said nothing in response.

They were fed breakfast, and said their goodbyes to Sensei, then made their way to the gates to begin their journey back down the mountain. But when the gates were opened…

…there stood six men, all heavily armed, all with weapons trained on Zim and Indy.

"Doctor Jones and Lieutenant Possible," One of them said with a heavy Russian accent, "I am afraid this is where your mission ends."

It took a second for Zim to place the man, but then she recognized him as the one they had left tied to the stone pedestal in the small temple chamber near Leningrad.

Indy and Zim both raised their hands in gestures of surrender.

"Who are you, and where are you taking us?" Indy demanded.

"Why, Doctor Jones!" The Russian said with a surprised tone of voice, "I am not taking you anywhere. I am going to kill you both right here."


	7. Tenacity

Author's lame apology: Sorry. I didn't intend to let four months go between chapters but I have had an insanely busy summer and am finally able to find the time to crank this chapter out. My sincere apologies to those who not only kept an eye out for chapter seven, but sent me gentle, e-mailed reminders asking what the heck I was doing and why wasn't this story being updated? Anyway, rest assured to those few who are still reading this, the story will be completed. I know a lot of stuff gets posted here at that starts out great but for some reason the author loses interest. For personal reasons, I happen to have a great deal of interest in seeing this story through to its conclusion. So… yeah… sorry again.

Thanks to the reviewers: Triaxx2, spectre666, AtomicFire, Zaratan, PseudoJuliet, Widow Shark, dark magician girl 91, Brother To Vorlons, Qracer23, Lydia King, Gnu Hopper, Jawelik, natuk, Manchester Black, and Zooc.

Thanks, as always, to everyone who is reading.

"I'm schorry schon…"

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter 7. Tenacity

••••••••••••••••••••••••

For a few seconds, a tense silence descended on Mount Yamanuchi and the air grew hot, despite the high altitude of their surroundings. In the chasm far below, the roar of the river drifted upward to mingle with the sounds of bees buzzing about. The leather of Indy's jacket creaked slightly as he began to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender; a stall tactic while his mind raced, trying to think of a way out of the current problem.

Zim's mind, on the other hand, was full of questions, " Why are you following us? And how did you manage to get yourself and a team of armed men into Japan?"

The Russian shrugged, as though answering her questions wouldn't harm anything since he was going to shoot them in a few minutes, "I am-"

"Commander Pieter Stukhov of the KGB," Zim interrupted impatiently, "We know that. I want to know why you are following us."

The Russian looked startled, then realized, "Of course, you looked at my identification papers while I was unconscious. I appreciate your not killing me that day."

"You could return the favor." Indy muttered sardonically.

Stukhov nodded sadly, "If it were within my power, I would gladly do so. I have nothing against either of you. But my superiors wish to keep you from finding this monkey statue you are seeking. My orders are to eliminate both of you; particularly you, Dr. Jones. My government is still rather bitter about the business with the Spear of Alexander."

"That was a legitimate artifact and it belonged in a museum!" Indy contested hotly.

Commander Stukhov shrugged again, "What do I know of such things? I am merely given orders to follow, and I follow them."

"Lot of that kind of mentality going around lately." Indy needled.

Pieter rolled his eyes, "I am sorry that you may not be able to tell the difference between a Russian and a Nazi."

"From what I know of the Pogroms and what I've heard about your Siberian gulags, I'm not so sure there _is_ much difference."

That rattled the KGB agent. His eyes narrowed and his grip tensed up on his weapon, "Those animals ravaged through my homeland and killed my parents, you-"

Stukhov seemed to check himself.

"- I will not be goaded in this manner. I have my orders and I will carry them out."

Indy's eyes flickered as the barest hint of movement caught his eye. Then all was as it was before. Whatever it was, Pieter hadn't noticed it.

Zim noticed it too, "If you are going to eliminate us, why don't we do this somewhere else, away from this school, and away from all these children? I'm sure the five of you can handle the two of us long enough to get us somewhere else."

Pieter gave her a strange look, then glanced at his men, wondering if she was trying to play some sort of trick on him. Because clearly there were six Russians standi-

"Where is Yuri?" Pieter suddenly barked, noticing the man on the far right was missing. "Pavel, where is Yuri?"

The young Russian on the right hand side looked to his left as if he expected to see someone, but there was no one there. He looked wildly about, startled, then turned back to Pieter, "I do not know Comrade Stukhov! He was standing here just now! You saw him yourself!"

"I'm sorry," Zim said with an edge of sarcastic sympathy in her voice, "Did I say 'five'? I meant 'four'… the four of you can handle the two of us."

Stukhov's head snapped back to glare at Zim, then looked behind him to his right, to the left side of the line. Everyone had been looking at him while he was talking. "Now what has happened to Nikita?"

All Russian eyes looked toward that end of the line. Stukhov stepped forward angrily and raised his weapon, pointing it at Zim, "What is going on here? How are you doing this? What has happened to my men?"

Zim looked at him innocently, "I'm not doing anything. As for your men, I honestly don't know what happened to them beyond the fact that they seem to have disappeared."

Stukhov looked around him with narrowed eyes, making sure his three remaining men were still there. Then he barked orders, and Zim and Indy were forcibly shoved out on to the narrow, rickety rope-and-board bridge that spanned the chasm from the school to the first outcropping of rock. Pieter led while the other two had their weapons carefully trained on the captives. Halfway across the bridge, Stukhov stopped abruptly, causing the man behind to stumble slightly into him. He recovered just before Indy went to make a move. Jones silently cursed his slow reflexes.

Stukhov quietly ordered his men to keep a close watch on the captives while he took a few tentative steps forward. Then he stopped again. On the outcropping ahead of them, several shadowy figures were moving into what was clearly an ambush position. Dressed all in black, and looking almost as though they were shrouded under the cover of night - though it was a bright morning – no one on the bridge could tell just exactly how many of them there were. More than two, that much was certain, but beyond that, their movements were so shadowy they seemed to be more of a dark mass rather than individual humans.

Frustrated, Stukhov raised his Kalashnikov submachine gun and fired. Bullets spewed forth and pelted into the outcropping ahead.

"No!" Zim yelled, "They're just kids!"

"They're _ninja_ kids!" Indy whispered savagely at her, "They can help us!"

Zim turned cold eyes on the archeologist, "I'm glad I don't possess your cavalier attitude toward children, Dr. Jones."

"They're ninjas in training, _Lieutenant!_" Indy spat out her rank as though it tasted sour, "Death is something they are taught to live with."

Stukhov ceased his firing and peered at the smoke-addled outcropping, unable to see any movement. Just to make sure, however, he raised his weapon and fired again, bathing the rock in a storm of deadly projectiles. The repeated staccato of the weapon echoed off the nearby cliffs. Soon everyone began to realize that things were at a standoff. The ninjas on the far side would not let them pass if they could help it, and Stukhov was not about to give up easily.

Jones surmised that soon, the Russian would make the decision to move forward, and have at least two of his men assault the outcropping with him. As trained as the students might be, they were no match for bullets delivered at point blank range. Indy turned and scanned the school-side of the canyon where he saw Sensei, calmly standing with what appeared to be a samurai sword in his hands. Had the archeologist not been paying close attention, he would have missed the slight nod of Sensei's head as a message was conveyed wordlessly across the void above the raging river below. Indy turned and looked at Zim.

"Chao chi," he said quietly, "La tzu sun tza."

It took a moment for Zim to figure out what language he was speaking, then disbelief washed over her face, "You've got to be kidding."

"Both of you shut up!" Stukhov said over his shoulder.

Indy looked back at Sensei and nodded. The old ninja master raised the sword over his head and hurled it forward. It sailed end over end once or twice, then, to Indy's astonishment, it transformed into a circular blade, such as one might see in a sawmill. Sensei raised his hand in the air and the blade suddenly curved, changing direction and effortlessly slicing through the ropes that held the bridge aloft. No longer able to sustain the weight, the remaining two ropes holding up the cross boards snapped almost instantly, and the bridge, as well as those standing on it, plummeted into the ravine.

The Russians let out startled cries as they suddenly felt weightless and the world began rushing upward around them. Though Indy managed to grab a somewhat decent handhold in time by wrapping his arm around one of the smaller ropes, Zim wasn't able to get any kind of grip and found herself filled with a sickening sensation as she began falling. She reached out, attempting to clutch at Indy, or at least his jacket, and missed. Her arms flailed at him, but he began to move away from her as that part of the bridge swung toward the rock. Zim made a Herculean reach once more and tried to grab hold of Indy's belt, and once more she missed.

However, something did find its way into her grasp and came away in her hand. Zim uncoiled the whip and, twisting in the air, lashed her hand out toward the last remnants of the bridge as it swung by her. The whip wrapped itself around the third to last board at the point where the support rope was entwined around it, then went slightly taught as the bridge began pulling Zim diagonally, then sideways; the rocky monolith rushing toward her at a painful speed.

Stukhov kept his head about him and began reaching for the planks as soon as the bridge dropped away beneath him. He clawed at the boards and managed to grab hold, only to have one break away in his grip. Then the bridge slammed into the side of the outcropping. Again he began to fall, and again he clawed at the boards as they rushed by him. Once more he slowed his descent by clutching a plank, but it too broke off and he fell. When he reached toward the bridge a third time, he found himself gripping a leather jacket instead of a wooden board. Indy grunted as his shoulders bore the weight of the Russian commander, while Stukhov's strong arms gripped him and held on for life. Indy fought to maintain his hold on the bridge and just managed to do so, but Stukhov's arms weren't satisfied with just the archeologist's shoulders. The left arm began to snake its way around Indy's neck, forcing his head up and back, while the other reached out and grabbed a plank still attached to the bridge. Stukhov twisted around and got a firmer grip on the bridge. Indy brought his right elbow up and back, giving the Russian a good smack in the face and jarring him a little, but his grip did not release. Indy began to choke, his vision blurred as his mouth opened and he struggled for air. Again he flailed his elbow but it was a weak motion and had no effect on his adversary. Stukhov's arm tightened around his neck, completely cutting off Indy's breathing.

Air rasped out of Jones' lungs in a guttural death rattle as Stukhov began to pull him away from his tenuous grasp on the bridge. It took so much of the Russian's strength that he actually leaned his head back and strained against the powerful upper body might of the archeologist.

Then, a hissing sound followed by a lashing crack and a surprised grunt from the KGB agent. A thin rawhide tendril had found its way around Stukhov's neck and began to pull him downward. Fortunately for Zim, Stukhov's grip had loosened thanks to the sudden distraction, and she was able to begin pulling the Russian away from his grip on Indy.

In the last throes of consciousness, Indy seemed to sense what was happening, so he shoved himself outward with what strength he had left, forcing the plank to come away in Stukhov's hands and leaving the Russian with only one relatively weak hold on his neck.

And that hold wasn't enough.

Zim pulled downward with every bit of strength she had, almost hanging her entire body weight on the whip, forcing Stukhov to release his hold on Indy and fall backward, the whip tightened around the Russian's throat.

Barely managing to keep his grasp, Indy looked down at Zim whose entire concentration was focused on Stukhov. As the Russian agent came away from the bridge, she deftly flicked her wrist and sent two ripples along the whip, causing it to unlash itself from Stukhov's neck. The KGB agent's arms flailed wildly as he began to somersault through the air. Zim flattened herself against the bridge as the he plummeted past her, trying in vain to grab hold of one of the bridge's remaining cross boards. Stukhov's pinwheeling arms managed to swipe at Zim once as he fell past her and went plummeting into the ravine. To the Russian agent's credit, he fell without making a sound, and plunged into the river below. Though Zim and Indy both scanned the river for some time, they never saw him.

Indy then turned his gaze toward the army intelligence agent below him, "You all right Lieutenant?"

A quick scowl played across her face as she looked back up at him, "I'm fine, thank you Dr. Jones."

Indy began to turn his attention to climbing up the remains of the bridge and hesitated. His first impression was that her brief scowl was a result of their current situation and the fact they'd once again been briefly sidetracked. But there was something in her tone of voice…

"Lietuenant… Zim…" Indy wasn't accustomed to being saved by anyone. A self-reliant man (or so he had convinced himself), he was uncomfortable with the idea that he might have to thank someone for doing anything for him, much less keep him from dying, "Thanks for… thanks."

Inwardly he cursed himself at the inability to even say the words 'thanks for saving my life.' But as he looked down at her, he noticed her face had softened before he even got to saying 'thanks'. She relaxed when he called her 'Zim'.

"You're welcome… Indiana," a half-smile - but a warm one nonetheless - emerged as she looked directly into his eyes, "Are you all right?"

"I'll recover." He nodded quickly and resumed climbing, his own smile kept hidden from her view. She had reacted negatively to his addressing her as 'Lieutenant', not because he hadn't thanked her for saving his life as he had first thought. Indy was familiar with the circumstances; often life threatening situations would cause a person's emotional barriers to come down involuntarily. Thus, while Zim might never have normally allowed her negative reaction to show at his calling her 'Lieutenant', it was now apparent to the archeologist that she was definitely warming to him, despite her opinions of him and how the mission had so far been conducted. He smiled wider as he thought of how he had once again charmed his way-

To his surprise, Indy found himself interrupting his own thoughts. He didn't like where that particular train was going and he wasn't sure why. For reasons that were currently beyond him, Indy didn't like the idea that Zim might become yet another in his long line of conquests. Something about her just… whatever it was, there was something about her. It made him a bit uneasy, as though his control in this was being taken from him. Whatever he felt about her it wasn't the annoyance he originally felt when he first met her, nor was it just a series of casual thoughts about how nice it might be to… no, to Indy's surprise he found that when he really thought about her, something deep inside him began to stir; something he hadn't felt in a long time… if ever.

Before they had reached the top of the outcropping, several of Yamanuchi's pupils helped the American pair scramble up onto more stable ground. Zim and Indy both thanked them profusely and turned to see if Sensei was still on the other side of the chasm. To their astonishment, he was standing on the outcropping with them. They were sure he hadn't been there just a few seconds ago.

Instead of addressing them, Sensei turned to one of his pupils, "Seito-chan, you allowed yourself to be seen by your enemy. You will run the dragon course three extra rounds today before evening meal."

"Hai, Sensei," The pupil looked chastised and bowed his head low, then turned to Zim and Indy, "It was my clumsiness that resulted in your near-death. I beg your forgiveness."

"We appreciate the help," Indy replied, then turned to Zim and spoke to her in English, "I think we better go before we get anyone else in trouble."

Zim nodded and turned to Sensei, who was again struck by the familiar look in her emerald eyes, "Thank you for your hospitality, and for the information you have shared with us, as well as assisting us just now. We are sorry if we put any of your pupils in danger."

"I am training these young men for a lifetime of danger," Sensei stated simply, "Apologies are unnecessary."

The three of them exchanged bows and the Americans began making their way across the second bridge to the far side of the ravine. Along the way, Zim voiced a couple of concerns to her mission partner.

"Indy, why didn't the Russians ask us any questions?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," his brow furrowed in thought.

"Stukhov said he wanted to prevent us from getting the Tempus SImia, but I don't think the Russians are going after it themselves." Zim stated.

They had reached the far side of the bridge. Indy halted for a second and looked at her, "You think if they were, they would have interrogated us; asked us where we thought it might be."

"Exactly," Zim replied, "Stukhov seemed to at least know something about you. And if he was aware of your accomplishments as an archeologist, then it would have made sense for him to want extract information about the Tempus Simia from you."

"He said he was just going to kill us," Indy recalled, "And never asked us anything. That does seem odd. Maybe this is some sort of vendetta the KGB has against me."

"Not sure I would agree with that. They let us thoroughly inspect that underground temple near Leningrad. If they wanted to kill you outright, they would have done so when we crossed their borders. No, there's something else going on here, but for the life of me I cannot figure out what."

"They'll probably send someone else after us, expecially if Stukhov kept his superiors apprised of the situation. It's a good bet the Empire knows we're still here", Indy said grimly.

Zim simply nodded as though she had already come to that conclusion. "I think the only thing we can do is continue with the mission. Stopping now might mean the Nazi remnants get their hands on it and who knows what they could accomplish. We should probably keep a low profile from here on out."

Indy stopped, looked at her and smiled, "It might help if you weren't always wearing your army uniform. Nothing says 'high profile' like an army officer at an archeological sight."

Zim's eyes narrowed, but she smiled as she looked at him, "What do you have in mind?"

Indy shrugged, "Anything that doesn't stand out as much as an officer's uniform."

She nodded as she looked Indy up and down, "I'll do some shopping tonight in Tokyo, after I file my report to Major Eaton."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Bader's hands shook. To be more precise, it was his fists that trembled so badly. His annoyance at the news that the Soviets were in the hunt had blossomed into rage.

The talisman was close, he could feel it. Soon they would be able to rip apart the fabric of time and bring the Fuhrer into a glorious new world. That is, if the KGB didn't manage to interfere. Would they stop Indiana Jones? The Nazis never could, and Bader was painfully aware of that. This time Doctor Jones had help from a formidable agent of Army Intelligence. Zim Possible was not to be taken lightly.

"Mein General?" A soft voice floated across the room. Bader turned his head expectantly to greet his chief lieutenant, Captain Demends.

"I am all right," Bader managed a weak smile, heading off the inevitable question. Demends knew his leader well, and could almost anticipate his moods.

"Are things not going as planned?" Demends stepped closer, his tone growing quieter, secretive. He was Bader's entrusted confidant, and would not tell the others if something was wrong.

"An obstacle I should have foreseen but did not," Bader admitted, "The Soviets are now involved but I do not know to what extent. It is impossible to say whether they are searching for the Tempus Simia themselves or merely attempting to eliminate Dr. Jones because he's taken yet another artifact from Russian borders. This news distresses me, but I will be all right.

"You need relief," Demends insisted, "I have a remedy."

Bader's eyebrows went up almost imperceptibly.

Demends left the room and came back leading a very old man who appeared to be Eastern European in origin. He looked terrified. Bader smiled, stood up and drew his pistol.

"This is Berthold Steiner." Demends explained quietly, indicating the trembling, elderly gentleman, "He was part owner of several banks in Poland. Before we invaded, he sold his shares and moved himself and his family here to escape the Reich."

"Foolish man," Bader said softly, "The world will soon learn that there truly is no escape from the Reich. You should have stayed and fought for the Fatherland."

"He couldn't," Demends told his superior with a shark-like grin on his face, "He is Jewish."

Bader's face lit up. It had been a while since he'd seen a Jew with his own eyes.

"You are a Banker?" Bader asked the old man in Polish.

"I…" Steiner seemed to have trouble finding his voice, "I was… in the old country. I have not been one for some time."

"Indeed?" Bader grinned at Demends, "And how long have you been a Jew?"

Demends laughed as though it were all a hilarious joke.

Horrified realization played across the old man's face. He'd been trying to keep his heritage a secret since the war ended and the fleeing members of the Nazi party began arriving in South America. He fell to his knees and began to beg.

"Please, sir," He began sobbing, "I am an old man with not many years left. Spare me my life!"

Bader pulled his trigger and the old man fell silent, unmoving.

Immediately the shaking in his hands ceased and he felt a good deal calmer.

One less Jew in the world.

He liked it when they begged and cried. Made them seem guilty somehow.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In the early part of the 21'st century, an elderly Indiana Jones sat alone in a room walled in by mostly cinderblock, save for one door and the mirror on one wall. The sweat generated by the combination of the room's stuffiness and his eye patch was making him itch in places his tied-up hands could not reach. It was more than a little distracting.

He tried to mentally piece together all that he had learned during his interrogation, but not much of it made sense. He knew they were after the Ark. And he guessed they were people his granddaughter either knew or at least have heard of. The name "Dementor" did not sound familiar to him, though Bill Locke had a somewhat nostalgic ring to it. Funny that a guy with that name should be so interested in finding the Ark, and with a seemingly German cohort no less.

Indy slowly lowered his head to the metal table in front of him and moved the eye patch around with the assistance of the table's surface. The coolness and friction provided a little relief, but not what he had hoped. When he straightened up again, the patch sat uncomfortably crooked on his face, revealing part of the scar behind it. For a moment he thought back to when he had lost that eye, but then mentally roused himself, frustrated that he allowed his mind to wander.

Again he went over the information in his mind, and again he was unable to paint a complete picture of what was going on. He began to grow worried. While his captors had exercised restraint in their first interrogation session, it began to occur to Indy that they might not in subsequent interviews. This Bill Locke character was indeed sinister, and looked as though he could dismiss whatever moral compass he steered by whenever the need suited him. And Dementor… well, as far as Indy was concerned, Dementor looked downright unstable; a powder keg that could blow at any moment.

They would be back to ask him questions again soon, and Indy knew this time they would not be so patient.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a chat room on the internet; one of those cheesy places people like to gather and pretend they're some place real; like a pub or a bar.

Rufus never quite understood the need for people to escape reality, only to pretend to exist in something like it here on the internet. As an entity whose primary existence was as an artificial life form housed in a large, positronic intelligence network, Rufus was far more interested in reality than any computer generated fantasy. He'd had enough of simulations. But when the need called for it, Rufus could disengage himself from his cloned mole rat body and move about the internet virtually unhindered.

The one aspect he did enjoy about computer simulations was that he wasn't encumbered by the physical limitations of a mole rat. Here he could speak in complete sentences; and rather smart-sounding ones at that. Rufus had a great deal more intelligence than his tiny pink body and limited ability to speak let on. Often was the time when he would hold long conversations with either Wade or Ron via a keyboard, just so he could discuss whatever relevant issues needed to be discussed; that is, when he wasn't keeping a close eye on Veronica.

He stood for a bit at the top of the stairs and looked around. In order to help him function better when he moved through the virtual realm of the web, Wade had installed a perceptive-filter program in his artificial brain that allowed Rufus to see any location on the web as something that resembled reality. In this case, the chat room looked like a nightclub of sorts; people sat talking and laughing (though the laughter was silent. Early on, when Rufus first ventured into the internet with the perceptive-filter program installed, people used the "lol" acronym so much and so often that all he heard was laughter; and it just about drove him crazy).

Tonight he was in a chat room designated "OB1" on the People's Web Service of China; frequented by mostly Chinese PC users looking for come companionship or to talk with their friends or whatever. Wade felt it would be a good place to conduct the meeting; public enough so that he could keep an eye on Rufus, but obscure enough so the meeting wouldn't be noticed by Global Justice or any other unwanted visitors. It was discovered some time ago that the Chinese Government had given up keeping tabs on every single chat room that popped up on their servers simply because there were too many to keep track of. So they had political monitors randomly surfing through each room to make sure no dissent was taking place, while other potentially illegal activity was mainly overlooked. The only thing the Chinese government cared about was whether or not the people of China were loyal to the "revolution", otherwise the attitude was generally "anything goes".

Rufus was here to acquire some knowledge. Ron and Kim had come home with very little information, but what they had, Wade managed to make use of. He'd discovered through some of his shadier contacts on the web that the "Ark" Locke had spoken of to Ron was very likely the actual "Ark Of The Covenant"; the altar to God spoken of early in the Old Testament. Thanks to his high level clearance as a freelance agent for Global Justice, Wade had come to learn that the Ark was last known to have been hidden somewhere in the United States, and that it had been taken possession of from the Nazis by none other than Doctor Henry Jones Jr.

Wade made a few more contacts and learned that Bill Locke was now in the employ of Professor Dementor, and they had also been seeking information on the whereabouts of the Ark. Several intense discussions with Ron and Kim later, Wade eventually figured out that Dementor had very likely abducted Kim's grandfather to learn the secret of the location of the Ark, presumably because it was a priceless artifact and could generate a great deal of money for the villains. It now made sense that when they learned of the location, Locke would probably use the IDOL to get through any security measures and would simply walk in to wherever the Ark was and take it. So it became of utmost importance to learn the location of Dementor, and possibly Indiana Jones as well, not only to rescue the elderly archeologist, but to keep Dementor from stealing the Ark as well as retrieve the IDOL and clear Jim Possible's name.

Someone had to know where Locke and Dementor were, and it was only a matter of time before Wade found a possible informant, though it was apparently going to come with a price. Whoever knew of Jones' whereabouts wanted a schematic of a working positronic artificial brain. He called himself 'Kosen' and said he would be willing to trade the location of Dementor for the schematic, but only through secure electronic means. Wade suggested the time and place, and arrangements were made.

The night before the meeting was to take place, someone had tried to hack into Wade's system and find the information on the artificial brain technology themselves. But the attempt was feeble, and the intruder didn't get very far before Rufus fought him off.

He looked down at himself, amused to find he was wearing a tux; black pants, white jacket, black bowtie and a red carnation in his lapel. He stepped tentatively down the stairs. Just before he reached the bottom, a man in a waiter's uniform crossed his path on the landing and stopped, looking up at him.

"Be careful." The waiter said secretively.

Rufus allowed a half smile and nodded. He stepped into the chat room and began making his way across the floor, searching for the correct table. Even though this was a virtual world, things that took place manifested themselves in odd ways through Rufus' perception-filters. Because the program translated typed language into spoken words or descriptions, it also had the unusual side-affect of translating actions into, well, actions. Most of the results of this were harmless; people grinning or laughing out loud, etc. But sometimes the program could filter typed words into odd results, mostly because it was designed to interpret mood and tone of voice. Thus, if a person in a chat room went on some type of swearing jag, or otherwise spoke ill words in anger, it would translate into actions of aggression; punching, kicking, etc. On several occasion Rufus found himself on the receiving end of a flurry of punches because whoever he was talking to had become angry. It was a nuisance, but so far Wade hadn't been able to find an effective substitute without eliminating the program altogether.

No one in the room thought it odd to see a six foot tall naked mole rat in a tux mostly because no one else saw what Rufus was seeing. To them it was all typed words on a monitor, but to Rufus, it was almost as real as reality itself. When he found the table he was looking for, Rufus sat down opposite his host, and took a quick glance at the three men sitting opposite him. They appeared Asian, but immediately, Rufus felt there was something not quite right about the man sitting directly across the table from him. This was the one who called himself 'Kosen'.

"Xau guayu, xau xanu?" Rufus spoke quietly.

"You did not tell me you spoke my language," Kosen allowed a half smile to play across his face.

"Only on special occasions." The mole rat replied.

Kosen gazed at him and leaned forward eagerly, "So, you have the schematic for the artificial brain technology?"

"You know I do", Rufus turned his head and glared at the man sitting next to Kosen, he seemed to be wearing a sour expression on his face. "Last night one of your boys tried to take it without paying for it."

"You have insulted my son," Kosen said coldly.

"No," Rufus countered, "You've insulted me."

Whoever Kosen's 'son' was, he was about to say something when a blond woman in a red sequined dress approached the table, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Oddly, Rufus recognized her as one of Kim's old high school classmates. In fact, she'd been on the cheer squad if he wasn't mistaken.

Annoyed, Kosen glowered at the woman, and then thought better of what he was about to do. Instead he decided an introduction would be in order, "Tara, this is Rufus. Global Justice's first naked mole rat agent."

Rufus' eyebrows went up in surprise. This Kosen fellow obviously knew a lot more than anyone outside of GJ was supposed to.

"Huh," Tara said sitting down, "I always thought mole rats were funny little hairless animals digging in their barrows."

"That's 'burrows'," Rufus replied with an annoyed look on his face.

"Rufus was about to deliver the artificial brain schematic to us, now." At the word 'now', the man Kosen had called his son produced a particularly nasty computer virus which he was about to send to Rufus' web address… To Rufus it looked like a revolver.

"What's this about brain tech-" Tara began. But as she was speaking, Rufus reached over and unleashed a program subroutine that held her frozen and unable to speak.

"Put the weapon away, sonny." Rufus said coldly.

Kosen glared at Rufus and then nodded to the man next to him, who hid the gun away somewhere.

"I suggest you give me what you owe me," Rufus threatened.

Kosen regarded the mole rat for a few seconds, and then nodded. He reached into his breast pocket and produced a piece of paper, which he placed on the table.

••

In his command center, Wade – virtually speaking – looked over Rufus' shoulder and read the information, and quietly transmitted a message to Rufus.

••

Rufus set the paper back down on the table and glared at the man opposite, "Dementor, Kosen, the deal was for the location of Dementor."

Kosen took yet another piece of paper out of his pocket, held it for a second, and then set it on the table, sliding it across to the mole rat. When Rufus touched it, something unseen passed to him without his knowing it.

••

Again, Wade looked at the information, and then was almost subconsciously aware that something had changed about Rufus in the chat room, but he couldn't figure out what. As he copied down the information – a set of coordinates – he ran a diagnostic on the mole rat's artificial brain.

••

Rufus released Tara from the subroutine and she looked angrily at him once she could speak again.

"What did you do that for?" She demanded, rising to her feet.

"Sit down!" Kosen barked. And something in the way he spoke to her seemed oddly familiar to Rufus; familiar in a way that sent chills down his virtual spine. Kosen then addressed Rufus, "Now, you bring me the schematic."

"My pleasure." Rufus said and raised his hand, gesturing toward the waiter that had earlier warned him to be careful. The waiter immediately came over and set what looked like blueprints down on the table. Rufus slid them across to Kosen who picked them up and read them intently.

"At last, I have the artificial brain technology I have been looking for." He declared almost reverently. His son also seemed keenly interested.

Rufus leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile, "Not much you can do with those schematics. They don't tell you the actual procedure for transferring intelligence to the brain, only how to construct a positronic network."

Kosen looked slowly up at Rufus, while his son took out what looked like a vial of blue liquid.

"What's that?" Tara asked with mild interest.

"The anti-virus." Kosen stated casually.

"Anti-virus to what?" Rufus asked suspiciously

"Why, the termination program that was transmitted to you when you accepted that last bit of information!" Kosen said gleefully, ending his sentence with laughter. His son also laughed, somewhat maniacally.

Rufus reached over and grabbed Tara once more, trapping her in a semi-stasis field. He pulled out his own termination program and brandished it in her direction. In Rufus' perception, it looked like a dagger.

"Kosen!" Rufus said, though in his peripheral hearing, Tara seemed to call him by another name.

"Keep the girl," Kosen said dismissively, "I'll find another."

The waiter had never left the table. Kosen was surprised to find him holding a rather large gun beneath his tray.

"Good service here." Rufus muttered.

"That's not a waiter!" Tara stated the obvious.

"Wade's an old friend," Rufus responded.

Kosen looked from Rufus to the waiter holding the gun on him, "So Wade is here after all. This is beginning to feel like something of a reunion!"

"Game's not over Kosen." Rufus growled and held out his paw, "Give me the anti-virus."

Suddenly, lights accompanied with loud pops began occurring all over the club. Rufus, Kosen and Wade all looked around, momentarily distracted. Unseen, Kosen's son brought out a boot program and discharged it at Wade, tossing him from the chat room and logging him off the net altogether. The waiter slumped in a heap on the floor.

••

"WHO IS THIS GUY?" Wade yelled loudly as he tried to reestablish a connection to the net and the chat room. In the meantime, he ran the name "Kosen" through the closed-circuit Global Justice net. Just as he managed to establish a weak connection to the net and the room itself, the GJ database came back with one hit. As it turned out, 'Kosen' was a Japanese word that meant-

••

"Ray", the waiter said weakly as Rufus hovered over him.

"Huh?" Rufus was confused, but he also began to feel strange. The termination program was beginning to overrun his artificial brain.

"Kosen," The waiter said, fading fast, "It actually means 'Ray' in Japanese!"

And Wade was booted from the chat room once more, this time for good.

Unfortunately for Rufus, the termination program had already been ingested, and if Wade disconnected him from the net now, he'd die. Since Kosen's son had shown that there was an anti-virus for the program, that meant it was very specific, and would probably work faster than would be time for Wade to go in to the artificial brain and isolate the program. The mole rat was dying.

Rufus stood up and stumbled a bit. His vision was beginning to blur. He looked with horror at the men across the table, finally realizing who they were.

"Ray Beam," Rufus mumbled almost incoherently and then looked to Ray's 'son', "Apollyon… how?"

"Quite simple really," Ray said placidly, enjoying the show Rufus was putting on for him. "My progeny here scattered bits and pieces of himself across the internet just before you and Wade terminated his program. What you killed, or thought you killed, was simply the technology that housed his artificial brain. And you apparently fried it pretty good. The information was still there. I just had to figure out how to go in and get it."

"But you…" Rufus stammered, "You're…"

"In jail?" Ray asked gleefully, "Yes, in fact, I still am at this moment..."

••

In the inmate computer room at the Snakeback Ridge Ultramaximum Security Penitentiary in southern Nevada, inmate #X4171, also known as Raymond Beam, giggled almost uncontrollably at the events that were taking place on his monitor.

"Pipe down, Beam!" one of the guards barked.

Ray reduced his glee to evil snickering.

••

"…but I've got parole coming up in a couple of years, and I've been on my absolute best behavior. Meanwhile, Apollyon has been my eyes and ears in the outside world so to speak. He's been keeping tabs on fellows like Dementor, or DNAmy or, "And here his face grew dark, "Drakken. When he heard you were looking for Dementor, I just had to take the opportunity to try something. Junior here needs a new artificial brain, and he's got the know-how to transfer his intelligence into it once it's constructed."

Apollyon turned his head and glared at Ray, "Don't call me 'Junior'!"

Ray rolled his eyes and laughed, "In the meantime, Junior's gotta do his best living in what bits of free storage space there are on the internet until we can get him back into a working artificial brain. And in his current state of existence, he's a bit weak as you can see. But then again, you're not looking so hot yourself, Rufus."

The mole Rat began to lose his balance, his vision faded.

"What's wrong?" Apollyon jeered, "Download the wrong program?"

Ray and Apollyon broke out in malicious laughter.

Rufus reeled around and stumbled to a nearby dessert cart. As he did so, something changed almost imperceptibly about the chat room. It seemed to change slightly, though it was the same as far as Rufus could see. Then something occurred to him as a thought, which meant Wade had sent a message directly into his artificial brain:

_I uploaded the perception-filter program into the chat room. Ray and Apollyon will be able to see, hear and feel everything you do, and they won't be able to leave unless they physically get up and walk out the door. But the only way they can do that is if they type 'get up and walk out the door'. I can't get to you, but if you can get the anti-virus and get out of there, I can take care of the rest. Good luck. Wade._

The dessert cart in front of him changed to a tray with a large skewer of duck flambé on it. Rufus picked up the skewer and hurled it at Ray, missing him but hitting whoever had been sitting to his left. The henchman cried out and then disappeared in a flash. The anti-virus was sitting on the table. Rufus dove and slid across the surface of the table, grabbing for the vial of blue liquid. He missed, and knocked it onto the floor. Without hesitation, Rufus backhanded Apollyon with his right fist, sending him sprawling across the floor, howling in pain. Ray leaned forward, furiously glaring at Rufus until their faces were mere inches apart.

"Xau tso!" Rufus hissed.

"Nes se!" Ray replied angrily.

The temptation to give Ray a good thrashing was what caused Rufus to drop his guard for an instant, allowing Apollyon to leap to his feat and tear the mole rat up off the table, tossing him away, tumbling to the floor.

Pandemonium erupted in the chat room. Most people were confused as to why they couldn't log out, and while some simply pulled the plugs or hit the reset switches on their PC's, many others typed in a bunch of confused questions which translated to panicked club patrons running about in no particular direction.

Rufus took a solid blow to the face which spun him around wildly and caused him to deliver a rather nasty left jab to the face of some poor, confused woman. Before he had time to realize what he'd done, Ray and Apollyon heaved him onto the cart and sent him crashing into the bandstand. Rufus vaguely wondered how the two villains were able to adapt so quickly to the conditions of the chat room until it occurred to the mole rat that Apollyon probably figured out what was happening almost instantly and informed his former master of the situation.

Rufus' vision began to dim.

Ray and Apollyon, still looking like Asians, came out of the blurriness of his periphery and hurled some sort of throwing knives at him. Luck caused most of them to miss, though he did manage to dodge one or two. He lurched forward to the bandstand once again and grabbed a cymbal from the drum set and hurled it Frisbee-style at Ray, catching him in the face; sending him sprawling and cursing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rufus caught movement and turned his head just in time to see Tara slip the vial of blue liquid into the bosom of her dress.

"Stay there!" Rufus shouted, pointing at her. He began making his way over and was set upon by the two villains who administered a fairly severe set of kicks and blows in a somewhat vague martial arts fighting style. Most of their intended blows missed, though one or two found their targets. Rufus, dazed though he was, managed to return a few solid blows and sent the to evildoers into a retreat.

But not for long.

Apollyon seemed to appear out of nowhere with what looked like a machine gun. Bullets cut through the air around the mole rat as he scrambled behind a firewall that looked to everyone in the chat room like a massive gong. Bullets pinged and clanged off the surface of the gong, and while none of them seemed to be getting through to their intended target, Apollyon didn't seem to care. He broke out in maniacal laughter and continued to spew deadly projectiles in Rufus' direction from a seemingly bottomless supply of ammunition.

When he heard the laughter begin, Rufus counted on the possibility that Apollyon's aim wouldn't be so perfect, and ducked out from behind the gong to grab a large sword that was hanging near the bandstand. Severing the ties that held it in place, Rufus stumbled along behind the gong as it crashed to the floor and began to roll toward a nearby window. Halfway to the exit, he spied Tara and grabbed her once again, feeling around inside her dress for the vial.

"Hey, I'm not that kind of girl!" Tara protested.

"That's not what I hear, sweetheart!" Rufus yelled above the din of the machine gun fire, "Josh Mankey, Brick Flagg, Jason Morgan… you even liked Ron for awhile, and those are just the boys in high school, who knows how many you went through in college."

Bullets continued to thud into the gong, the window loomed near.

"And now you're with Ray Beam? Is the word 'standards' anywhere in your vocabulary?" Rufus continued.

"How do you know Ray?" Tara yelled (or rather, typed in all caps).

"No time!" Rufus yelled back.

The gong thundered through the window with Rufus dragging Tara immediately behind it. They leaped blindly into a black void, and were booted from the chat room.

••

Words appeared on Wade's screen: '_How do I administer the anti-virus?'_

'What does it look like'? Wade typed on his keyboard and hit 'send'.

'_A vial of blue liquid.'_

'Drink it… that should take care of the problem.'

Nothing for a few seconds. Then:

'_That seems to have worked. Everything is beginning to feel normal again.'_

'Glad to hear that'.

'_I thought Ray was in jail!'_

'He is,' Wade replied, 'I just tapped into a Snakeback security camera feed and have two-minute-old image of Ray sitting at a computer in the inmates computer lab. I sent an e-mail to the warden asking that his computer privileges be revoked.'

'_Well, it's a sure bet he's up to something'._

'True, but as long as he's still in jail, there's not much we can do. In the meantime, you should stay off the net until we can track down Apollyon and finish him off. I should have thought of erasing his information as well as destroying his hardware. Since that was him that tried to get into my system last night, I've got his net ID, and will make sure GJ has a copy of it so he won't be able to get through any security barriers. They'll send it out as a general warning and in a few days, Apollyon won't be able to go anywhere on the net that he doesn't belong. Otherwise we'll deal with them later. In the meantime, it looks as though Ray's information was accurate. The coordinates embedded in his info look as though they point to an abandoned logging camp in British Columbia."

'_Sounds like the perfect place for a lair'_

'Just what I was thinking.'

'_Oh, one more thing. Kim's old high school classmate Tara is here with me. It seems she's been long-distance dating Ray for some time now. Apparently she was feeling lonely.'_

'She'd have to be. I'll ask Kim to give her a call tomorrow. I'm sure she'll have a few things to tell her old friend about Ray.'

'_I don't doubt. Meantime I'm going to hibernate for awhile and then get back into my body. I'm beginning to miss Veronica.'_

Wade smiled and typed, 'I'm sure she misses you too buddy. Sleep well.'

'_Night.'_

_••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••_

Indy wasn't sure if Zim was emulating, or just making fun of him. Eventually he decided it was a little of both, though it really was hard to tell; from her mischievous grin the moment he laid eyes on her in her new outfit, to the slight twinkle in her eye that seemed to indicate she really did like her new clothes.

They were in the lobby of the Ryokan Hotel in Osaka, waiting for their Japanese representative to come and escort them to the castle, since it was still technically a personal property belonging to the Japanese Emperor and thus off limits to the public. Indy actually stood up when he saw her walk (to him it almost looked like she was floating) down the grand staircase and across the lobby floor.

"Well?" Zim asked, and then surprised herself by actually doing something she might have called 'girly'; she turned all the way around so he could see the whole outfit. She couldn't hide the blush when she turned back to face him.

"It's a lot less noticeable than the army uniform," Indy declared with a lopsided grin.

Initially, Zim felt a twinge of disappointment, hoping he would rave about what she looked like. But then two things occurred to her: why did she care so much about what he thought, and was that look in his eye saying more than his words were letting on?

To himself at least, Indy had to admit she looked nothing short of stunning. She wore a reddish suede vest over a white cotton, long sleeve shirt, and while the men's tie around her neck seemed unnecessary, it certainly did look smart. The pants were tan khakis, the legs of which were tucked into black, brushed-suede boots that came up to just below the knee; laced all the way up. Clearly the footwear was lightweight and durable, and there was no doubt in Indy's mind this was deliberate. Kicks could be delivered swiftly, while still offering protection to the foot. To top it all off, Zim had chosen, and this was where Indy felt she was mocking him, an Australian style cowboy hat, almost the same color as her vest.

"Not bad," Jones said in a tone that was clearly and utterly appreciative, "Not bad at all."

There was no doubt about what he thought this time, and it made her blush that much deeper. This was downright unsettling for the Lieutenant. She'd never even had a reaction like this to anything her late husband ever said, and he was always-

The thought had gone through her head before she even realized it. She'd just compared this man to the only other serious relationship she'd ever had in her life, and was completely overwhelmed by what that seemed to imply. This couldn't possibly be anything more than friendship… at exactly what point did she begin to consider their relationship more than professional?

And just to add fuel to the fire:

"Dr. and Mrs. Jones?" came a voice from a few feet away.

Zim didn't think her blush could get any deeper, but Indy's grin sure did get a little wider as he turned to address whoever had spoken to them, "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm afraid I'm not marrie-"

Indy cut himself off when he caught sight of the two gentlemen who had been sent to meet them. The first man, the one who had spoken, was unknown to either Zim or Indy. He was a middle-aged Japanese man in a simple suit and tie and had something of a scholarly look about him.

But the other man, the one who was even now chuckling at what the Japanese man had just said…

"Hello, Junior."

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Indy was genuinely surprised.

"Didn't you get my letter?" his father asked in a smooth, Scottish accent with slightly slurred 'S' sounds.

"The last one I got from you said you were helping to recover stolen medieval artifacts given to the Japanese Government by the Nazis during the war," Indy began to put two and two together, "But I thought you'd be handling that from home, you never said you were coming out here."

"Didn't I?" Dr. Henry Jones Sr. stood in his customary grey flannel suit and porkpie hat, musing almost to himself, "Must have slipped my mind."

"So what are you-?" Indy gestured toward the other man.

"This is Professor Kyoju, from the University at Yokohama," Henry explained while everyone shook hands, "He's my counterpart on the recovery project. When he received the telegram from the U.S. Army requesting an escort and permission to investigate Osaka Castle, he came to me about it because my name was mentioned."

"'Dr, Henry Jones'," Indy nodded.

"I thought it was from your father." Kyoju spoke for the first time. His Japanese accent was mild, "But when he explained who you were, I volunteered to be your escort, and invited him along."

"It seems this country has a tradition where fathers and sons actually spend time together." Henry chided good-naturedly.

"Don't start with me, Dad," Indy got defensive, "You know I've been busy."

"So you always tell me," his father responded, "I thought you were in the Solomons looking for Cook's Dagger."

"I was, and I got it." Indy nodded at Zim, "I've been asked to recover something for Army Intelligence."

"Hi!" Zim said brightly as she stepped forward to shake Henry's hand, "Lieutenant Marion Zimmer Possible, United States Army Intelligence. Please just call me 'Zim'."

"Enchante'" Henry said casually as he raised her hand and brushed it with his lips.

"All right, all right, break it up," Indy grinned and eyed his father suspiciously, "You old smoothie."

"Indy has your eyes," Zim said to older Jones.

"So I've been told," Henry said warmly, "But the rest belongs to you."

"Oh, real original Dad." Indy blurted sarcastically as they made their way out of the hotel.

••

It was an odd, eerie feeling of emptiness that greeted them at Osaka Castle, made that much more pronounced by the crowded conditions of the city outside. It wasn't just empty, it was deathly silent. Even Professor Kyoju seemed nervous.

"What can you tell us about the castle?" Indy asked his Japanese escort as they tread lightly through the halls.

"Only its history," Kyoju replied quietly, "No one has ever been allowed in here before.

"How did we get in here so easily?" Henry asked.

"A 'request' from the conquering military," Indy stated plainly, "After Hiroshima and Nagasaki, there's not much the Japanese wouldn't allow the Americans to do."

"We are not an occupying force," Zim said a little more defensively than she meant to, "There will not be a U.S. military presence in Japan for more than five years. Ten at the most."

"I hope you are right," Kyoju responded to her, "My country has had its collective dignity torn from it, though this is perhaps not such a bad thing considering our aggressive nature in the last ten years. If we are to survive as a people, we will need to regain our own self-sustenance, and make sure our culture does not perish in the process. Though I must admit, I do like this game of 'Baseball' your military has introduced to us; very intriguing. It is a sport that combines chaos with rigid discipline."

Zim smiled and then turned to Indy, "So where do we start looking?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Indy said looking around.

"Junior, I'm surprised at you." Henry practically scolded.

"Please don't call me 'Junior'" Indy practically whined.

"What's the first rule of archeological field work?" his father asked, ignoring his complaint.

"'The older stuff is usually on the bottom." Indy said nodding, "All right, so we make our way downward."

And downward they went, descending a seemingly endless series of rough stairways until even the daylight could no longer light their way. Zim and Kyoju both had flashlights while Indy kept an eye out for anything that might be usable as a torch, since the batteries in the lights would not likely last too long.

It got colder, and more dank the further down they went. At some point, Zim shivered and Indy handed her his jacket without even thinking about it; simply took it off and draped it over her shoulders, somewhat to her surprise; and to his father's as well. Henry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his son do something like that for anyone, much less a woman, especially when they were on the hunt for a relic. Indy's focus was usually on the prize and nothing else.

At some point, after they explored a great many chambers on one level, some of them strewn with rough stone blocks, or piled haphazardly with what would be considered priceless artifacts, they could no longer find any downward stairwells or passageways. They were on what they believed to be the lowest level.

Indy looked at his father and they both nodded without saying a word. Each of them picked up a nearby trinket or relic and began examining them in the meager light.

"You said we were looking for something that would date approximately to Four hundred A.D., yes?" Henry asked his son.

Indy nodded.

"That would be right around the time of Emperor Kotei", Kyoju contributed.

"This seems newer than that," Indy mused while examining a decorative bowl.

"It occurs to me that this record you are looking for probably wouldn't be out in the open, not if it contained a secret as great as you believe it is." Henry observed, looking around, "And if I were any given Emperor, concerned about the constant possibility that my country might be invaded and I would need to raise an army…"

"Typically that was the duty of the Shogun," Kyoju put in.

"Correct," Henry agreed, "But was it his duty to also finance such an endeavor?"

"A treasure chamber." Indy concluded, "Probably a secret one."

"What better place to store a parchment with such important information?" Henry asked rhetorically.

"So it wouldn't be something so obvious as a room one can just walk in to" Zim contributed, letting them know she was tracking with the conversation.

"Right." Indy said purposefully, "Since we only have the two lights, let's divide in half and begin looking for some sort of hidden doorway."

"A hidden doorway?" Kyoju said doubtfully

"It would be hidden enough to be readily concealed, but not too well, so the subsequent generations of Emperors wouldn't lose track of it." Henry assured him.

And so they went; Zim and Indy in one direction while his father and the professor went in another. But while the voices of Henry and the Professor echoed through the halls and chambers, Indy and Zim said very little to each other. This time, it wasn't because there was tension between them. At least, not any kind of negative tension.

The search stretched through the better part of the day. Indeed, it had taken several hours just to work their way down to this level. Every wall, every sconce, every possible cranny had to be thoroughly investigated for a lever or handle or latch that might reveal a chamber that awaited their discovery.

Presently, Indy and Zim heard lively voices, and then one called out: "Junior! JUNIOR! Come quickly!"

"Keep talking Dad!" Indy said, trying to follow his father's echoing voice through the maze of corridors and passages.

"This way!" Henry cried out, "We're over here!"

A few more minutes, combined with one or two frustrated instants where they wound up in a room or a dead end, and Zim and Indy finally found their way to their companions.

"Whoa!" Zim said when Henry caught hold of her arm and held her fast. It wasn't his grabbing her that made her yelp, it was really more the fact that she suddenly found herself standing on a ledge that fell away into an utter blackness even the flashlights couldn't find the end of. As it turned out, there was no secret entrance, or hidden lever; just a hallway that led to an abrupt ledge.

Indy took Zim's flashlight and trained it around them. The ledge was narrow, about the width of a small wagon. Roughly thirty across from them was what appeared to be another ledge; an outcropping that began a crude path along the end of the far wall (which was really just a stone cliff; as it turned out, the ledge opened on a vast, subterranean cavern), but between this point and that, there was no bridge, and it was far too wide a gap for them to leap across.

"Anyone else smell that?" Zim asked, sniffing the air.

"It smells like tar," Kyoju replied.

Indy trained the flashlight around once more, and this time he brought it to rest on a nearby wooden basin sitting about waist high. It was full of an inky black substance.

"Crude oil." Henry observed, and then pointed to a small stopper at the bottom of the basin. About ten inches below it was what looked like a crude gutter that ran away from the basin to the edge of the precipice. He reached down and, with some effort, pulled the stopper out. The oil flowed like a thick syrup into the gutter and then spilled over the ledge, into the depths of the cavern.

Indy took out his matches and lit one up.

"No, wait," Henry put his hand up, "Wait until the basin is almost empty."

So they waited an impatient, almost agonizing thirty minutes while the oil slowly drained out of the basin. Once it was down to just a few quarts left, Henry replaced the stopper and nodded to his son. Indy lit another match, and dropped it into the gutter.

Flame immediately sprang up and traveled along the length of the gutter, to the ledge, and then over it. All four of them peered over the edge and watched in fascination as the flame raced downward along the slowly moving rivulet of flammable liquid until it apparently reached a plateau some twenty feet downward. A small bowl-sized basin filled with oil blazed to light, but it was too small to contain all the oil that had been drained into it. They noticed a smaller gutter leading away from that particular basin, which continued downward. Now the line of flame was out of their sight, but thanks to the small fire blazing away, they could see much of the top half of the chamber.

It was vast, with two crude suspension bridges that spanned the width of the chamber. The cavern itself was about the size of a large aircraft hangar tipped up on end. The path on the far side wound down steeply and ended at one of the bridges, which then went across to a rock monolith that towered up out of the chamber floor. Japanese calligraphy covered the walls in various places with letters as small as normal typeface while others were larger than a person. There were masks; some hung on the walls, while others were carved into the walls, each with empty eye sockets and leering, empty mouths. In addition, human skulls lined parts of the pathway, as well as adorned the posts that held up the suspension bridges.

One more small basin on a remote ledge blazed up as the fire raced along the tiny stream of oil until at last, some two hundred feet below them, a large basin of oil blazed forth brightly and added its light to the others, allowing them to see the entirety of the chamber.

"Clever lighting system," Henry muttered.

Indy nodded in agreement, "I doubt the oil came from here, it was probably brought in from somewhere else and the basin kept full."

Zim shook her head but said nothing; only college professors would take time from the marvels they were seeing to discuss how it worked.

At the bottom of the cavern, they could clearly see a vast trove of wealth that had once been arranged in an orderly manner, but was now somewhat strewn about the floor of the chamber. Several skeletons also lay about; one of them had an arrow protruding from the skull.

The topmost bridge, the first one that would get them across to the narrow path on the far side, was suspended about twenty feet above them. Without saying a word, Henry nudged his son and pointed at the ceiling above the bridge. The ropes holding the span aloft went through small holes in the roof.

"OK" Indy said to Zim and the professor, "Dad and I have dealt with stuff like this before. You two stay here while we figure out how to trip the mechanism that will lower the bridge."

Indy and Henry began peering around the fire-lit chamber, while Zim seemed to be studying the pathway itself.

"Something doesn't make sense here," Zim said doubtfully.

"It rarely does." Henry acknowledged without looking up. He nudged his son once more and pointed downward. Near the first pyre – the upper most basin filled with oil – on an impossibly tiny ledge, there was a rope that seemingly led into a hole in the wall.

"That's probably it," Indy nodded, "Lieutenant, I'm going to lower you to that ledge with my whip. I need you to pull that rope, but gently. We don't know how old it is or how fragile."

"Yeah, but-" Zim began.

"Trust me," Indy said smiling, "I've dealt with way more complicated mechanisms. This is what I do."

Zim closed her mouth, but a doubtful look remained on her face. Nonetheless, she consented to being lowered to the first ledge. There was a very tense moment when they realized she would have to let go of the whip and fall a short distance to the ledge itself. But Zim landed almost cat-like and never appeared to lose her balance. She made her way along to the rope and tugged as gently as she could. Then she pulled harder.

"Careful!" Indy breathed.

"It should be all right," Zim called back up, "It's woven silk. Still quite strong. Wait… something's happening."

From somewhere unseen, something groaned with a deep creaking sort of sound that practically rumbled through the stone walls. The suspension bridge began to lower and stopped just a few feet above them, so they would have to step up onto it from their place at the edge.

Indy turned to Professor Kyoju, "You should probably stay here, in case something happens. Someone will need to go get help."

Kyoju simply nodded and gazed fearfully about the chamber. Of all the things he was expecting to see, this definitely did not occur to him in the slightest.

"OK, Dad, now we're spending time together." Indy cracked as he stepped onto the first rung of the bridge.

"Now really, Junior, there's no need for sarcasm, I simply meant- what was that?"

The air sizzled and a whooshing sound accompanied a blur of motion that passed between Indy and his father just as Henry was stepping onto the bridge, which sank an inch closer to the ledge. The lowering of the bridge caused Indy to take an inadvertent step forward and again the bridge dropped another couple of inches. But this time, both archeologists saw an arrow come shooting from an eye hole in one of the large masks in the wall to their right. At that same instant, the two ropes holding the bridge nearest the ledge began to lower at a sickening rate, collapsing that part of the span.

At this point, it probably would have been possible for the two men to leap across the distance and get safely to the ledge next to Professor Kyoju. But even now, at the risk of life and limb, Indy's determination to get what he was looking for drove him onward. He grabbed his father by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him stumbling across the bridge, ducking and dodging as arrows sizzled through the air all around them, one or two of which nicked them as they lurched across the collapsing span. Henry and his son leaped, just barely managing to get a foothold on the edge of the far pathway as the bridge gave way and plummeted downward, crashing to the cavern floor far below. They stood there trying to catch their breaths and calm their rapidly beating hearts.

"Are you two all right?" Zim called out, genuinely worried.

"We'll be fine," Indy replied, then turned to his father, "Why are there always booby traps?"

"'Always', Junior? Usually I dig something up, take it to the museum, end of story." Henry said matter-of-factly. "I don't know anything about 'always'."

"Will you please stop calling me Junior?"

"Is this really the time for this particular argument?"

"It never seems to be the right time."

"Don't start." Henry pointed a warning finger at his son.

Indy heaved a heavy sigh and began working his way down the steep path that clung to the side of the rock face. He couldn't help noticing how smooth it was, and that if anyone were at the bottom of this chamber, without this path and all these bridges, there would be no way to climb up and out.

The trail went steeply downward until it came to a level place, went straight level for about twenty paces, then descended a couple of stairs and continued winding its way downward along the wall. Indy and Henry crossed the level part without incident, with Indy following, to make sure nothing happened. But as soon as Henry stepped on the first stair, it lowered several inches and a loud crack was heard overhead. Without looking up, Indy pushed his father along the path for ten or fifteen more feet and then stopped, pressing himself and his father against the rock face and looking behind them.

From somewhere unseen above, a massive log fell straight through the air and crashed through the level part of the pathway they had just traversed. To both men's amazement, it shattered that section of the trail, and continued crashing downward to the bottom of the chamber. The level part had actually been a crude bridge mounted to the side of the cliff face, covered in dried mud to simply look as though it had been dug out of the rock.

Shaken, the two men made their way another several hundred feet or so as the path wound its way along the wall, then it abruptly turned to the left, reaching the second bridge which spanned across to the huge rock monolith. Into this monolith was carved a crude spiral staircase that wound around the outside of the rock downward to the chamber floor. Both men studied the expanse carefully and determined that the ropes did not lead anywhere other than the anchor points in the rock wall or on the outcropping itself and thus could not trigger any mechanisms.

Not that Indy was completely trusting in this conclusion, but there seemed to be little choice. He stepped tentatively out onto the bridge, expecting the planks to give way beneath his feet. Henry watched closely as his son took another step, and then another.

"It seems to be all right," Henry said with relief and stepped out onto the bridge.

"No, dad! Wait! STOP!" Indy tried to prevent his father from walking toward him but it was too late. The anchor points on the wall gave way and the bridge collapsed. With his left hand, Indy wound his wrist through the rope that served as a handrail, while his right hand yanked his whip from its place at his side. Henry had his right arm outstretched; the end of the whip lashed around his wrist. The father of Indiana Jones caught hold of the whip and held on as best he could while they began to swing toward the monolith, but Henry Jones Senior was well past middle age, and his strength was not what it used to be.

A third anchor point gave way on the monolith side of the bridge, and now Indy and his father began to swing at a slight angle to the pillar of rock. At the apex of the swing, just when they were beginning to fly outward away from the monolith, Indy heaved as best he could and then let go of the whip. Henry sailed through the air for a few feet and then went sprawling upon the crude winding staircase on the face of the outcropping. He slid a couple of stairs downward but managed to catch himself before he tumbled over the side and onto the floor below.

Indiana didn't hesitate. He began sliding down the remains of the bridge as fast as he could while continuing to swing. Once or twice, he bumped painfully into the rock, but was unable to catch hold of it, so downward he continued. Finally, while still about twenty feet above the floor, the last anchor point of the bridge gave way and Indy came tumbling to the chamber floor in an unconscious heap.

Henry made his way quickly down the winding stairs and rushed to his son's side, relieved to find him breathing.

Then he looked up.

The pyre on the chamber floor lit up the entire cavern all the way to its ceiling. It illuminated the walls and what remained of the path, and the shattered remains of both bridges. It lit up the face of a woman far above who peered down in fright and concern. And further up, it illuminated the face of a Japanese man who reappeared at the ledge and shouted something down to them.

"What?" Henry asked.

"A large stone door has closed behind me, blocking my access to the rest of the castle, There are no latches or levers that I can see, and it looks extremely heavy," Kyoju shouted down to them.

Indy mumbled something incoherent as Henry stood up and gazed at the wreckage above and all around him.

Kyoju would not be able to go for help. His son was unconscious, and Zim was stuck on a narrow ledge, unable to move. The old archeologist looked at the skeletons strewn around him and began to wonder if something similar had happened to them.

Hard to say.

But one thing was certain.

They were trapped.


	8. Legends

If I told you all the reasons why it's taken me so long to post this, it would be longer than the chapter itself. Suffice it to say my life practically turned upside down a few months after I posted chapter 7, and then I heard the movie was coming out, so I decided to wait until Crystal Skull was released before proceeding with the story. It has, and here I am. It feels good to be back.

Thank you to the Reviewers:Zooc, Atomic Fire, Ezbok58a, Triaxx2, Jawelik, JPMod, CajunBear73, Ace Ian Combat, LandLPhanfics, MrDrP, Zaratan, Commander Argus, Widow Shark, Yankee Bard, Qracer23, Whitem, PseudoJuliet, BrokenWings00, Wild KS Phoenix, Gnu Hopper, NotTheCrimpmaster, and ilikedan.

Now where were we...?

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

Legends

* * *

Despite the large cauldron of fire on the other side of the chamber, the vast cavern was still cold. Firelight flickered eerily on the giant masks and Japanese calligraphy that were either carved into the rock face, or made from carved wood and placed in various locations on the walls.

Indy gave a low murmur and his father knelt down next to him, leaning close to see if there might be any serious injury.

"Dad?"

"Lay still son," Henry said softly, "You had a bit of a fall and knocked yourself unconscious. Shall I give you a short examination?"

"I guess," Indy responded, somewhat befuddled.

"All right then," Henry sat on the floor of the chamber next to the leather-jacketed archeologist, "What were the three basic principles which guided the drafting of the Magna Charta?"

"Very funny, Dad" Indy winced from what was obviously a pain in his head.

"Well, I'm a history professor," Henry explained patiently to his son, "Not a medical doctor. Historical knowledge is the only examination I know how to administer."

"It's too bad there's no known remedy to your awful sense of humor."

"Indeed," Henry sympathized, refusing to give Indy the satisfaction of reacting to the barb, "It nearly drove your mother to insanity. Of course, she managed to avoid it at least until you were born."

Indy smirked and then both men fell silent. Neither of them were ever comfortable talking about Henry's late wife, largely because they both loved her immeasurably long after her death. The father loved his wife as one loves the other half of himself, while the son, as a young boy, often wondered if all mothers were so angelic, nurturing and playful. The occasional mention in conversation was the best either man could do to pay her tribute, though both felt she deserved so much more. Each man harbored his own very private, very deep pain where she was concerned, but it was a day and age when men simply did not share their feelings with one another.

"Do you think you can stand up?" Henry asked, his concern audible.

In response, Indy grunted while struggling to his feet. Henry stood up next to him, prepared to steady his son should the younger man tremble, but not helping him off the ground. Such an act would have made them both self-conscious.

Indy winced again as he looked around the chamber; the flickering light of the cauldrons weren't helping his newly acquired headache. Three-quarters of the way up the rock face, he could make out the pale face of Zim Possible, still standing, still clinging to her precarious position on the ledge high above.

"Is he all right?" Professor's Kyoju's voice echoed down to them.

"I-!" Indy began, then stopped abruptly as the act of shouting made his head throb.

"He'll be well soon enough," Henry called back up, "How are you and Lieutenant Possible?"

"I'm fine," Zim called down, "I think we should look for a way out of here as soon as we can. The oil in those pots isn't going to last much longer, and we don't want to be fumbling around here in the dark. Henry, you should probably try and find what we're looking for. Does Indy need to rest, or can he start making his way up now?"

Both men looked at each other, then at the demolished bridges as well as the section of pathway that had been shattered by the falling log. Then they looked at each other again.

"Lieutenant,-" Indy began.

"Just wait there." Zim said in an exasperated voice. She slowly turned around on her perch so that she was facing the cavern wall. Stepping back just a tiny step, she bent her knees and lowered her right foot over the ledge, carefully feeling about the rock face with the toe of her boot. She lowered herself as far down as she could and continued feeling about until her boot caught something; the upper edge of one of the giant wooden masks mounted on the wall just below her position. Then, to both men's astonishment, Zim climbed – ladder fashion – down to the floor of the cavern using the eyes or mouth holes of the masks, or the edges of the calligraphy figures. Indy and his father looked around and realized that anyone could climb to just about any spot in the cavern using such a method.

Henry spoke aloud what Indy didn't want to admit to himself: "Those bridges were a deliberate decoy."

Indiana Jones uttered a frustrated sigh and once again mentally kicked himself for being so easily deceived. It was a weakness of his; too often he trusted what was right in front of him and took it at face value, sometimes being too eager or too much in a hurry to stop and ask whether he should be trusting his own eyes. He thought back over the poisoned drinks, the disloyal companions, the falsely ransacked rooms… Obvious clues he sometimes overlooked in haste, or trust he bestowed upon someone who clearly should not have had it. There were times when he was too naive, and ironically (for an archeologist) didn't ask enough questions, or did not ask the right ones.

"I was taken in by it as well, Junior." Henry said quietly to his son as Zim made her way downward. Then he indicated the skeletons lying about on the floor, "And so were they."

Indy merely nodded and looked upward again, marveling at the ingenuity of the ancient Japanese mind that dreamed up such a simple, yet no doubt effective scheme. Any treasure or valuables were probably lowered by rope while men who had already climbed down to the floor waited so they could properly store it. Any potential thieves, rather than risk their necks climbing down the walls, would naturally be drawn to the elaborate pathway and set off the mechanisms that protected the place, which included closing the heavy stone door where Professor Kyoju was now standing. Whoever was caught in here would be trapped and probably left to be dealt with by those in the castle, or simply left to starve. Even if the castle had been taken in a time of war, the mechanisms would have been thought of as one last act of defiance by a conquered Japanese emperor. Even now, hundreds of years after Osaka castle had been effectively abandoned, the traps had done their work. Noting how relatively easy it would have been to rebuild the bridges and fill in the gap in the pathway, Indy wondered how many times the mechanisms had actually been used.

"Are you two all right?" Zim asked once again when she reached the floor of the cavern. Without waiting for an answer, she approached Indy and looked worriedly into his face.

Their eyes locked.

For the first time in his memory, Indy saw genuine concern in a woman's eyes. Most of the female companions he had for his various journeys tended to look at him with accusations on their faces: _You got me into this,_ their glares would say, or _I didn't ask to have my life put in danger, this is your fault._ But in Zim's face he saw only concern. Suddenly, the man who had faced down countless enemies, stared in the face of certain death and walked casually away, hung his life by the mere strength of a thread and came out triumphantly laughing on the other side… suddenly Indiana Jones found he was feeling something he hadn't felt since he was a young boy:

Shy.

"I… um, I think we're…" He stammered, actually beginning to turn red.

Fortunately, Zim misinterpreted his body language, "You _should_ be embarrassed Dr. Jones. Maybe next time you will listen to what I have to say instead of cutting me off with '_trust me, this is what I do.'_"

"Wait a moment," Henry interjected, "You had this figured out before we got down here?"

Zim nodded, "A pathway leading right to the castle wealth? No. Too easy. No one takes the time to decorate a storehouse – not without a reason - because no one is ever allowed in one to enjoy what's there. The masks and figures had to serve another purpose."

Henry nodded, "Well done, Lieutenant Possible. You certainly do bring the 'intelligence' to Army Intelligence."

Zim blushed, and Indy got jealous.

"What's with the goofy last name anyway?" Indy asked in annoyance, "I thought you were Lieutenant Johnson."

"It's not a goofy name, _Indiana!_" She spat out his chosen nickname with some measure of contempt, "It happened to be my aunt Mim's last name. I've decided to adopt it for myself rather than keep my late husband's name. I need to move on with my life."

"I like it," Senior declared, "It sounds optimistic."

"All right," the archeologist said a little more gruffly than he meant to, "Let's start looking for that document before we run out of firelight. Once we've found it, we can figure out a way to get out of here."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Henry asked his son.

"A parchment; rice paper, with Chinese writing on it. Shouldn't be too many of those. If it's here." Indy replied.

A voice came drifting down to them, "This castle was built _after_ the time of Kotei when it was decided that stronger fortifications would be needed. So anything from his time period would be buried under the more recent accruements of wealth."

"Thank you, Professor!" Henry called back up to his colleague, "When we find what we need, we'll climb back up to where you are."

"I'm going to drain the remaining oil out of the basin" Kyoju called back down, "to give the fires more time to burn."

Zim had begun to walk away, then stopped and looked up toward the Japanese professor, "You mean to say the stone door did not separate you from the oil basin?"

"That's correct," Kyoju answered.

Indy had learned his lesson on listening to her, "What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"I think the opening mechanism for the door is in here somewhere."

Indy nodded and waited for her to explain.

"If whoever built this elaborate trap took the time to install a heavy stone door, then they deliberately allowed for the oil basin to be sealed in on this side." She continued.

"Ah!" Henry exclaimed, picking up her line of reasoning, "In case someone was accidentally trapped inside, they would have access to it."

Zim nodded, smiling, "So they could use it if they needed extra light without having to worry about re-setting the door until they were finished with whatever they were doing in here. But the trigger for the door won't be anywhere near the exit."

"OK," Indy was getting impatient, "First thing's first."

The three of them got to work.

••

Rufus wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep. Typically, mole rats slept for up to twenty hours a day, but since he was anything but a typical mole rat, his sleep schedule varied. His senses fed information through a transmitter located at the tip of his spine, to one of three satellites in orbit around the earth. Wade had come up with a way to boost the signal so that it actually traveled faster than light, thus avoiding a delay in signal response when the rodent was on the opposite side of the world from the piece of technology in Wade's basement that housed his mind.

Early on, when Rufus was still growing accustomed to his cloned body and artificial mind, a delay in his response time would manifest itself whenever he was on a mission with Ron or Kim that took him to the other side of the globe. Like the delayed response of a TV reporter giving a live broadcast from a far off country, it would take up to three seconds before Rufus would be able to react or respond to input. On a couple of occasions, that proved to be incredibly dangerous. So for a couple of years, Rufus was relegated to just the western hemisphere while Wade worked to fix the problem. But once solved, Rufus was able to be anywhere on the planet and could react to any situation instantly. Because of this, Global Justice was taking a serious look at developing a line of cloned mole rats to function as assistants to their Deep Field Operatives. Mole rats were nimble, compact, and the fact that they were hairless meant they were less likely to carry a scent which could be picked up by villain's guard animals or scent detection technology. Wade of course, was assisting in the development phases of the project.

They planned to call their first subject Rufus One.

Rufus' artificial mind retrieved several memory files and fed the signal to the cloned mole rat's body; he was in Middleton, staying with Wade and Monique so he could keep a closer eye on Veronica. Ron and Kim had come home for a few hours but then headed out again. Wade was still trying to get a fix on Locke's new lair, but was having difficulty with satellite imagery. Kim and Ron were in Florida, on their way to the Chez Leisure Retirement Community where Nana Possible had spent her final years. Wade had discovered one of the other residents at Chez Leisure was a man by the name of Henry Jones Jr. Apparently Indiana Jones had been living at the retirement home several months before Nana had gone to live there. In fact, it was the occasion of Nana's relocation to Florida that had brought a teenage Ron and Kim to the area during spring break, and they'd managed to foil a plot by Drakken to turn the area's residents into a zombie army. Before leaving again, Kim had wondered allowed if her grandfather had been caught up in Drakken's scheme and been turned into one of those mindlessly obedient drones. And though Indiana Jones was missing, presumed held by Locke and whoever he was working for, Wade informed them that he had a roommate at Chez Leisure. A man by the name of Marcus Brody. Maybe he had information on Indy's whereabouts.

All of this knowledge passed through the active processors in Rufus' artificial mind in the space of nanoseconds. He oriented himself to his surroundings (Wade's basement, next to the large device that housed his synthetic mind), time of day (the mind's internal chronometer kept him attuned to the exact time of day down to the millisecond, in this case, it was a little after midnight), and physical state of being (within normal parameters). The mole rat stretched, yawned, and then hopped down from his shoebox bed. Despite all the technology and state-of-the-art equipment, Rufus' most comfortable means of slumber was still a small box stuffed with an old towel.

He took two steps and froze.

A faint sound, soft, but definitely out of place, floated down to him from upstairs. It was Veronica, and she had giggled. No one would react in alarm to the simple giggle of a toddler unless they knew that child and were aware of every mannerism that child displayed down to the most subtle nuance. Rufus knew that Veronica was now at the age where she slept though the night. And on the rare occasion when she did wake up, she usually cried until an adult – either her parents or Wade or Monique – came in to check and see what was wrong. But just now she'd simply giggled. To Rufus that meant something was definitely out of the ordinary.

He scampered up the stairs as quickly as he could, but because of his size, it was not a very quick trip. Stairs were large obstacles he had to deal with when going up them. He was near the top when he heard it again. This time it was almost outright laughter. Something… something about the fact that she'd be laughing in the middle of the night… though his mind was artificial, and though he had originally begun his life as a simple animal with primitive intelligence, Rufus had – with quite unnatural help – evolved into a being with sentience; the ability to feel emotions, be aware of the self, and rely on such distinctly sentient faculties as intuition. His told him something was wrong, and the synthetic processes in his mind concluded that he should be extremely concerned. This triggered a software subroutine that sent a signal back to the cloned mole rat's body to begin pumping adrenaline into the bloodstream. In short, a burst of sudden fear and worry spurred him up the stairs faster than he was normally able to travel on his own.

Reaching the top, Rufus skittered around the corner and made a beeline directly for Veronica's room. Approaching the partially closed door, he saw the room was dark at first, then noticed a faint reddish glow, localized to a source at the far end of the room, near what Rufus knew was the window. He slid and scratched as he rounded the corner and scampered in a near panicky state into Veronica's room. The reddish glow suddenly moved in his direction and softly illuminated the tiny rodent.

Veronica giggled in delight at the sight of her friend. But Rufus felt no mirth whatsoever.

He felt cold. The window was open and the chilly night air wafted across the floor, bathing him in a physical manifestation of the cold fear that instantly escalated to outright alarm.

Locke's cyber-monkey was crouched at the foot of Veronica's bed, the reddish glow from its ocular implant swathing Rufus in a crimson light. The face of the simian was a visage of comic mischief in order to distract and delight the young girl while unseen hands even now reached through the open window toward her. On sight of the mole rat, the cyber-monkey's face twisted into a mask of hideous rage.

When he was first cloned, Rufus had embraced his emergence into sentience with enthusiasm, glad for the ability to communicate with his friends and master, Ron Stoppable, as well as become a useful member of the team, and now, the trusted guardian of Kim and Ron's daughter. The monkey on the other hand, was not so pleased with it's forced entry into the world of higher understanding and self-awareness. It hated Locke, hated what he'd done to it, hated its own very existence. All that hatred churning within the half animal/half machine caused it to delight in any activity that brought about pain and destruction for any other creature, even on occasion relishing the opportunity to bring misery to Locke himself. The monkey loathed no creature on earth as much as Rufus. It had seen first hand how Rufus was loved and cherished by the humans who took care of him. Simply put, the monkey coveted that love, and blamed Rufus for such feelings.

Veronica's giggle died off almost immediately on sight of the hideous emotion playing across the monkey's face. Fear consumed her as she felt hands reach through the window and pick her up from a place even her toddler's mind instinctively knew they should not be coming from. It was at this moment that Veronica Anne Stoppable would utter her first word.

"RUFUS!" she squealed in abject panic.

The mole rat moved, but was instantly set upon by the cyber-monkey who was almost twice Rufus' size. The simian tackled him and the two animals tumbled over and over, thumping lightly against the far wall of Veronica's room.

Ronnie-Anne tried to scream, but a hand clamped down over her mouth. She was pulled through the open window in a rough manner, crying and struggling against her captor.

The monkey hauled Rufus up over its head and slammed him back to the hardwood floor. Rufus scrambled to his feet and tried to get out of the way, but the mechanized tail lashed out and caught his foot, whipping him around to impact with the wall. Dazed and disoriented, the mole rat rolled away from the wall, instead of trying to get up, kicking his leg out on the second roll and catching the monkey off guard. The simian's feet went out from under it and it hit the floor with a surprised squeak. But this only served to enrage Rufus' foe. Still lying on his back, he swung his mechanical arm up over himself in a rainbow motion and brought its full impact down on Rufus, who felt his wind go out of him. The monkey's subsequent blows were felt beneath a distant haze of rapidly approaching unconsciousness as Rufus' thoughts focused almost solely on Veronica.

With his artificial mind, Rufus accessed the security system for Wade's house and found that it had been disabled. He struggled to keep himself conscious, but the pain and the blows were too great. At last, he withdrew himself from the cloned body and it slumped to the floor. The monkey poked and prodded it once or twice and then, satisfied with its work, scampered up on to the bed and out the window, disappearing into the night after its master.

Rufus re-engaged the security systems and set off the alarms, then re-inserted himself back into his body. Without his presence, the body would simply die and Rufus would be trapped inside the confines of his synthetic world. As soon as he re-entered his body, the waves of pain washed over his senses, and he sank into unconsciousness.

It took Wade and Monique a minute or two to respond to the blaring alarms, but by that time, Veronica's abductor was long gone. Within a half hour, teams of Global Justice trackers were swarming the Stoppable property, but they were unable to turn up much in the way of clues as to who took the girl.

And Rufus… Rufus could only think three words as his world went from gray to black:

"_I'm sorry, Ronnie-Anne."_

••

His mind was a clouded haze of half memories and fractional glimpses of current reality. They had administered drugs in an attempt to extract the truth from him. But he'd held fast, and kept his secrets. Indiana Jones smiled to himself. If his hands hadn't been tied he would have patted himself on the back for this particular triumph. Although on second thought, he felt he probably would have dislocated a shoulder trying to perform such a maneuver at such an advanced age. He was an old man, and nothing on this earth was ever going to change that.

Still, he had his unyielding strength of will, and that, he concluded, was stronger than any physical strength anyone would ever be able to posses. They had demanded to know where the Ark was, and he again refused to tell. They had injected him with a beefed up version of sodium pentothal, and still his secrets remained hidden. At last, flying into a rage, the one called Dementor had let his diminutive fists pummel the old man for several seconds before Locked pulled him off and informed him that he had an idea. Through his swelling good eye, Indy observed the slow smile that had played across the face of the German wearing the helmet. And then, without a word, they had left.

That was several hours ago.

Indy knew that whatever they tried next would probably result in his death, but it no longer mattered to him. Illogical is it might have sounded to anyone else, Indy considered it a matter of honor that he keep the answers they wanted hidden from them. He did not talk when the Soviets interrogated him on the whereabouts of the Spear of Alexander. He didn't utter a word when the New York Mafia came calling after he had "liberated" some priceless art from their clutches. He spilled none of his secrets when Mola Ram made him drink the blood of Kali and he fell into a deranged stupor. He certainly had no intention of telling this small man in the odd looking crimson helmet the location of the Ark of the Covenant.

His mind was beginning to clear. The drug-induced haze was lifting. He heard noises behind him, and a door opened.

Indy chuckled, "Why don't you just let me go now? Nothing you fellows have tried is working. There's nothing you can do to me that will make me tell you anything."

"Agreed," came the low, Bavarian growl that Indy had come to recognize as Dementor, "In fact, I do not intend to cause you any physical harm in any way from now on. Clearly yours is a mind that cannot be broken through means of torture or artificial substance."

"That's probably the most intelligent thing I've heard you say since we met," Indy scoffed.

A henchman walked into the circle of Indy's vision and set something on the floor about ten paces away. Indy squinted with his swollen good eye and tried to figure out why he was seeing what he was seeing. It was a chair. But it was about half the size of a normal chair. He didn't think Dementor was that small…

Then Indy heard something else. Sniffling. Whimpering: the unmistakable fear of a young child. Indy's mind and heart went cold.

They sat her down in the chair, and then, to Indy's astonishment, proceeded to tie the little girl to it. Indy realized he was wrong earlier; these guys weren't amateurs compared to the villains of the past, they were simply much less sane.

The girl clutched at some sort of stuffed toy. She didn't struggle much when they tied her up, seemingly preferring to be tied to a chair as opposed to being roughly handled by bad men. Her green eyes flickered up at Indy and he saw something there. He saw Zim. There was no doubt in his mind this girl was his great-granddaughter. Her eyes gazed at him and began to water, her lower lip trembled, protruding slightly, and then melted as she began to cry once more. Not hysterically this time, but with a deep sadness. Indy realized her tiny mind had comprehended that this old man across from her had been hurt, and was possibly even now in pain, and it filled her with a sadness she could not yet comprehend. She sobbed, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, but her eyes did not waver, and never left him. Whatever she saw in the old man, she saw a familiarity there. She may not have recognized him as family, but she certainly saw him as one of the good guys; a friend who probably needed her Daddy's help. And by the looks of things, her Mommy's as well. Though Veronica had barely said her first word earlier that night, she already could instinctively recognize that when someone needed Daddy's help, things were bad. If they needed Mommy's help, things were worse.

Indy opened his good eye as much as he could, and smiled warmly at the girl. Her sobs diminished to whimpers. Tied to a chair, she struggled slightly against her bonds, wanting to get up and go give comfort to the old man. She never took her eyes off him.

Dementor moved in and stood between them, looked down at Indy, and then took an involuntary step back when he caught the look of unbridled rage in Indy's remaining eye.

"How dare you involve a child in this matter. If you don't kill me," Indy spoke just above a whisper, "Then I promise you do not have long to live."

Dementor pretended not to be swayed by the threat, "Simply tell me the location of the Ark and nothing will happen to the girl. Any further hesitations, however, will result in some measure of harm being done to her."

Indiana Jones would have been willing to bluff the Grim Reaper with his own soul on the line and a ten of spades high card in the hole. But he would not risk even one hair on the girl's head. He glared up at Dementor.

"The Ark is in…"

••

"…Middleton."

"What?" Ron exclaimed a little too loudly.

The man who called himself Marcus Brody scowled at the young blond-haired warrior, "Do you think at my age I can afford to be telling anything other than the truth?"

"Not really sure how to answer that question, Mr. Brody," Kim said coolly, "See, our friend Wade did some digging before we came down here and found out that the only person named Marcus Brody who was ever associated with my grandfather was a museum curator who died about thirty years ago."

The old man scooted forward in his chair and peered very hard at Kim. They were in a relatively small two bedroom apartment attached to a central building. There were two doors in this living space; one that led outside, and another through witch nurses and orderlies would come in and check the supposed Mr. Brody's vital signs every hour or so. It was a clean, well-lit living environment free of any kind of clutter; the kind that had handrails on the bathtub and wide doors to allow for wheelchairs, though the old man was able to move about of his own accord. It also had that uniquely peculiar odor that seems to be so prevalent in retirement communities and nursing homes. Ron called it "Old Man Stink", though not within earshot of Mr. Brody.

After a moment, Kim began to grow uncomfortable.

"So," The ancient looking man said as he sat back in his chair again, "You are Junior's granddaughter. I suppose I should have known. You have your grandmother's eyes."

"All right," Kim said calmly, "So now you know who I am. Perhaps you might tell me who you really are?"

"Certainly," he allowed the barest hint of a smile, "My real name is Henry Jones _Senior_."

"That can't be true," Kim said shaking her head, "Our records indicate Henry Jones Sr. died shortly after Marcus Brody passed away."

The ancient man nodded, "There came a time in my life when it became clear I was going to live well past the natural age most humans live to. So, with your grandmother's help, I faked my own death. I realize how odd that must sound."

"Oh," Ron said uncomfortably, "It doesn't sound that farfetched."

"Because of our close association with my son, your grandmother and I had become targets for assassins and other nefarious types. I got tired of dodging bullets. Indiana may have enjoyed it but I certainly didn't. To keep the secret safe, we didn't even tell my son, and for a few years he actually believed I was dead."

"I know how he felt," Kim muttered sarcastically.

"I'm sorry?" Henry asked.

"Never mind," Ron said hurriedly, "Please continue."

"At some point during the seventies, I felt it was safe to let my son know I was alive. But he agreed with me that I should keep my identity hidden for my own safety's sake. I've been Marcus Brody ever since."

"Dude," Ron forgot himself for a moment, "Exactly how old are you?"

Henry nodded, "I'm not sure… exactly. I stopped counting at one hundred twenty-seven."

Stunned silence for a moment.

"You want to know how." Henry read the extremely inquisitive looks on their faces, then gestured to himself, "This is the curse I have endured as a result of daring to take a drink from the Holy Grail."

Ron and Kim exchanged a look but remained quiet.

"Legends speak of the Holy Grail and its ability to give everlasting life to those who drink from it. There are many who have spent their entire lives in the attempt to discover if those legends are true. I am fairly certain they are. And though regular consumption of the Grail's life-giving waters will grant eternal life, they won't grant eternal youth. It's a curse brought on by any who are so arrogant as to think they deserve to sip from the same cup that once held the blood of Christ."

"Wouldn't some people think of eternal life as a blessing?" Ron was overcome with curiosity.

"Only fools would think that, my boy. I merely took one draught from the Grail and this is what it has brought me; decades of frailty and the feeling of uselessness, young people who do my laundry and clean my living space with a look of disdain on their faces, as though they want to be done with their work and get back out into the world of the living as soon as they can. Most elderly folks endure this treatment for a brief time in their lives but I have suffered thusly for more than fifty years now. All my friends and colleagues are long dead. No… I should have died that day Donovan shot me in the temple," by the end of his story, Henry Jones Senior had a faraway look in his eye, almost as though he'd forgotten about the two other people in the room with him. Then he checked himself and looked at them with grave solemnity, "It's as though the Almighty offered up a choice to humanity where the Grail is concerned; an eternity spent living through increasingly old age, or one spent in His presence after we die. I'm sure in His version, one does not become old… I seem to remember something about 'running and not growing weary'. Regardless, the Grail is not to be trifled with."

"I respect that Dr. Jones," Kim said quietly, "But we came to ask you if you might know the whereabouts of your son, and you said you didn't know, but then you said the Ark of the Covenant is in Middleton."

"Yes, of course," The elder Jones said sheepishly, "I'm afraid my mind has also felt the effects of my advanced age. But as I was saying, it is very likely that whoever has my son is trying to ascertain the location of the Ark because of its current location in Middleton. He and your grandmother moved it there for safe keeping after what happened in Japan."

"You're talking about the time you and Dr. Jones and Nana were trapped in some sort of treasure chamber." Kim stated.

Jones nodded, "It took some time, but we were able to find the tablet Junior was looking for, however…"

••

The fires had burned low, which made the search a bit more difficult. Every now and then, Zim or Senior would find something and bring it to Indy with hopeful looks on their faces, only to be turned away in disappointment. It was difficult for the Jones boys to keep their concentration amid the vast trove of historical artifacts, each one more ancient and potentially priceless than the last.

"One thing is certain, boy," Henry said quietly to his son at one point, "Even if we don't find what you're looking for, we're probably looking at the greatest discovery of Oriental artifacts this century."

Indy managed a grim smile of acknowledgment and then continued looking. This entire situation was beginning to bother him. For the first time since he'd begun the task of finding the Tempus Simia, he'd stopped to put a few pieces together, answer one or two questions, only to come up with more. And these new questions were beginning to bother him. Even though they'd gotten rid of Stukhov, Indy knew the Russians would not simply give up at this point. It wasn't in their nature. One man fails, another takes his place. He'd heard rumors of Russian soldiers at Leningrad during the war having to share one rifle between them; it being the duty of the second man to pick up the rifle and keep fighting when the first one was killed. That was how the Russians worked. If they came at you, then they would keep coming until you were brought down.

But there was more than just that. The Soviets seemed to be almost a step ahead of Indy at times. How did they know to come looking for him and Zim at Yamanuchi? Not many people would have that knowledge. Indy stood up and gazed very intently at Lieutenant Possible. Could it be that this agent for Army Intelligence was more than what she seemed? She'd been the one to send Stukov plummeting into the river, but was that because she genuinely was his enemy, or did she realize things were not going the Russian's way and thus had to play it off as though she were against him?

Indy felt doubt and mistrust creep into his thoughts whenever they came back around to Zim. Just who exactly was she? And what side was she playing for?

"Junior!" His father's exclamation broke his thoughts, "I think this might be it!"

Indy moved over to his father's side. Henry Jones Senior was holding a stone tablet wrapped in parchment and carefully unwrapping it on the surface of a low table nearby.

The tablet itself was white marble and filled top to bottom with Japanese calligraphy. There were no margins, no breaks, no indentations. The lettering took up every available space. Indy studied it carefully, then shook his head in disappointment.

"I'm sorry, dad, I don't think this is what we're looking for. This speaks of some kind of war to overthrow Emperor Kotei and his father."

Senior uttered an exasperated sigh, "I can read Japanese, Junior. You said you were looking for something from Emperor Kotei's time period."

"Yes, but-"

"But read a little further down before you decide to throw away an important clue." The elder Jones scolded his son.

"Yes, sir." Indy muttered and gazed back at the tablet. "OK… a massive army led by the lord of the Satsuma Province and… what's this mean?"

Zim peered over his shoulder and looked where he was pointing, "Literally translated it says 'Monkey Demon'."

"Thanks," Indy continued, "Army of living stone monkeys and dragons as well as men… Overthrew Emperor Senzo, but spared his son Kotei… then came warriors from the heavens who had hair of yellow and orange, some who threw green fire with their hands, and a great scholar with blue skin who built war machines. They opposed the Monkey Demon and with the help of a small army from the north, fought to subdue the army of monkeys and take for themselves…"

Indy fell silent for a moment, then continued.

"…take for themselves a weapon of stone shaped like a small ape which had the power to bring the stone monkeys to life-"

"Indy", Zim quietly interrupted, "I think you might have missed part of that translation back there."

The archeologist cast an annoyed glance in her direction but waited for her to explain.

"You said 'warriors from the heavens', but I believe the literal translation is 'beyond the sunrise'." She hadn't missed his glance, nor had she missed the shadow of doubt in his eyes. Whatever he had thought of her up to this point, she realized that he suddenly did not trust her, perhaps as a result of his experience with others, or something he'd been thinking about. Whatever the case, it bothered her a great deal. She found herself wanting his complete and utter trust; wanting, in fact, to earn it.

"Interesting," Henry Jones Senior observed, "That could be an old Japanese phrase whose meaning would be closer to 'tomorrow' than 'the heavens'."

Indy's face softened as he realized what Zim and his father were saying. He allowed a half smile to play across his face when he looked back down at the tablet again. More specifically, it was what the tablet was wrapped in that caught his interest.

"This is Chinese; ancient Mandarin, and look at this!" he carefully peeled one of the parchments away from the other, "The bottom half of this is written in Japanese."

"Is that significant?" Zim asked, genuinely curious.

Indy bent close to read in the low light, so his father answered for him, "It is likely that someone found it important enough to add details to whatever was written on this parchment."

"Assuming I have the literal translation correct," Indy's barb was not lost on the Lieutenant, "It notes that a man by the name of Mukashi had taken two journeys across the sea to the east and returned with these parchments after the second crossing. Now look at these lines in Chinese here."

Annoyed, Zim peered at the parchment as though she were checking his work, but then forgot all about her bruised ego when she realized what she was reading, "The last of three groups of monks returned from their journey and gave an accounting of what they had accomplished in the years they had been gone. Mukashi was summoned to journey back to China to retrieve a record of the accounting..."

"And here," Indy pointed to a different parchment, forgetting his own doubts about her for the time being.

"All three groups began following the sunset… which means they headed west," Zim continued translating aloud, "Two of them each carrying a piece of the talisman while the third carried with them instructions on utilizing its power. Eventually, one group turned-"

"'Eventually'?" Indy chided.

"OK, it says they split up after one hundred twenty-eight days of traveling westward. One group went south, while the other two stayed together until a second group turned south several months later."

"It says this third group was carrying the body of the talisman." Indy's eyes lit up, "And that it took them another month until they reached the spot that would eventually become that small shrine outside Stalingrad."

"Ah!" now Henry's eyes lit up, "So if we calculate the distance by the number of days traveled, assuming they left at sunrise and continued until dusk…"

Indy nodded.

It took Zim a moment longer to figure out what they were saying, "We should be able to locate where the head piece is."

"As well as the temple they must have built that explained how they-"

Indy was interrupted by a rumbling that seemed to come from all around them. Dust and small debris cascaded down into the chamber, but whatever was causing the rumble wasn't strong enough to shake loose the wall hangings or the larger fixtures. Protectively, almost instinctually, Indy and his father moved closer to Zim in order to be ready to shield her from anything that might come tumbling down upon them. After about thirty seconds, the rumbling stopped and all was quiet again, but for the crackle of the fires, which were now beginning to go out.

Henry Jones Sr. looked at his son, who merely nodded back, confirming that they were both all right.

"Lietuenant?", Sr. inquired.

"I'm OK," she replied, and gazed around the chamber. She was clutching the tablet and parchments protectively against her.

Then, one of the braziers, the one burning highest above them, flared up and began to burn bright again. All heads on the floor of the chamber turned upward and squinted against the brightness. Behind the flame, a concerned voice floated down to them.

"I have discovered the mechanism that opens the chamber door," Kyoju called down to them, "But I did not realize it would cause the chamber to shake. Is everyone all right?"

They all nodded.

"Excellent work my friend!" Henry Sr. called upward, "Stay there, we will be climbing up to you shortly!"

••

"…but there was some bit of controversy after we got out." An ancient Henry Jones Sr. was speaking to an intently listening Ron and Kim Stoppable. "The Japanese government never had any knowledge of the treasure chamber, and certain members of the new parliament were concerned that hardliners loyal to the Emperor might wish to exploit the wealth to resume the war against the United States. In addition, since it was such a major archeological discovery, there was no way Junior and Zim would be allowed to keep the tablet, or the parchment, even just for temporary study."

"So it was taken away from them?" Kim asked with deep curiosity, "I doubt my Nana would allow something like that, not with her connections and security clearances."

"Actually," Henry said with a grin, which increased the wrinkles on his face exponentially, "Your grandmother was the one who came up with the solution to the problem. Jr. already had a fairly shaky reputation in archeological circles; no one believed his claims that he's discovered the Ark of the Covenant, or the Holy Grail, or the Spear of Alexander, and his methods of field work were widely frowned upon by scholars… (and here he threw a dismissive wave at no one in particular)… and what did they know anyway? Often are the times when life affecting decisions are made by people with too much power and are too far removed from reality."

"Yes," Ron intoned a little too impatiently, "But what was the solution Kim's Nana came up with?"

"Public ridicule." Henry Jones Sr. said with an even wider grin, "It was decided that Indiana would declare that he had made an archeological find of great importance, and he would hold an impromptu conference to discuss what he had found. Professor Kyoju set up the conference at the University of Tokyo for the following day and invited all the visiting British and American archeological scholars that had been brought in to help catalogue Japan's national treasures."

Kim got a little too eager and finished his story for him, "And at some point during the conference, you had to say that your son was not telling the truth and disavow any knowledge of any find whatsoever!"

"No," Sr. said sternly, "I would not outright ridicule my son. All I did was say I was not present for the discovery, and indicate that I had never been shown the original discovery site. There were a few rather arrogant scholars in attendance who could be counted on to do the rest."

"So they accused your son of faking the whole thing," Ron concluded.

Sr. nodded, "Junior's reputation was already tenuous and the official Japanese governmental representative publicly concluded that Indy was simply trying to gain more notoriety for himself and disavowed the find."

Kim practically bubbled, "And that let Nana and my grandfather keep the tablet and parchments!"

"Yes," the ancient man said in his slurred Scottish accent, "And though Indy was never really able to fully recover his reputation, he always said it was worth it. He loved your grandmother a great deal. It's a shame he had to keep her and the rest of their family a secret while he was able to publicly acknowledge the son he had by Marion Ravenwood."

"I have an uncle besides Slim?" Kim's curiosity welled up within her.

Senior nodded, "That's a very long story, and it helped to cover up the existence your grandmother, as well as the location of the ark."

Ron got up, nodding, "We should let Wade know about this. If Locke or Dementor have found out this information, they might already be on their way to Middleton to retrieve the ark."

He moved off a few steps and pressed a couple of buttons on his wrist, then waited expectantly. Nothing happened. He pressed the buttons again. Again nothing happened. Ron grew alarmed; his instincts told him something was seriously wrong. Wade's equipment rarely malfunctioned and almost never failed.

"Ron?" His wife could feel his concern.

Ron turned and sprinted out into the hallway, then out into the parking lot where the Ninjet was waiting. His alarm grew when the vehicle just sat there in the warm humid darkness of the Floridian night; no lights came on, the engine did not fire up. Wade had set up a system that would sense either Ron or Kim's battlesuits and automatically power up the ninjet. He squatted next to the front driver's side fender and reached up under the wheel well, feeling around until his hand felt a small button-like device. The tiny device scanned his finger print, and then powered up the ninjet, turning on the lights and bringing the engine on line. Ron frantically threw open the driver's side door and leaned in, then pressed the face of the view screen. It powered to life, showing him several icons. After he punched the correct one, the screen went blank for a moment, then Wade's face appeared. The look on his friend's face told Ron what he needed to know before Wade even spoke a word:

"Ron!" Wade's intensely worried face showed a slight tick of relief, "I've been trying to reach you, but my systems were all shut down. I think the-"

"Did they take Ronnie-Anne?"

Wade hesitated a fraction of a second, "Yes."

"Where?"

"Most likely place would be that abandoned logging camp in British Columbia", Wade seemed to calm somewhat, suddenly having other things to concentrate on besides Veronica's abduction, "I'll have more information when I get the rest of my systems online. I'm sorry I couldn't get a hold of you Ron, but all my equipment was shut down by the IDOL, and it looks like they accessed the Ninjet via my systems and shut it down as well."

"Will it still fly?"

"I won't know until-"

"We'll stop by Middleton and get the exact coordinates of the lumber camp directly from you, someone might be listening in on this conversation even now." Ron said hurriedly.

"Good idea," Wade replied, "You can pick up Rufus while you're at it. He says you're not going after Veronica without him."

"Wouldn't think of it," Ron punched the screen and cut Wade off. He sprinted back inside.

"Locke and Dementor have Veronica." He stated plainly the second he stepped through the door of Henry Jones' apartment.

Kim tried not to react but she couldn't help gasping. They both knew that because of the nature of their work, they and their children would be the targets of all kinds of villainy. Kim was accustomed to the occasional notification that Ron had been kidnapped or taken prisoner, but she discovered it was quite another thing to have her child taken. Something altogether different, and much more serious.

"Are these the same people who have Junior?" Henry Jones Sr. inquired.

"Kim nodded as she stood up, "We believe so, yes."

With surprisingly agile strength for someone of his advanced age, Henry Jones stood up and faced them solemnly, "Then you must take me as well."

"I'm sorry," Ron said almost dismissively as he and Kim made their way toward the door, "but where we're going, it's very dangerous to-"

"Don't talk to me about danger, boy!" Henry Jones spoke so authoritatively that Kim and Ron actually stopped at the door and turned to face him, "I know danger, and I know evil, and I know with absolute certainty that you need me with you."

Ron began to move without answering, but Kim hesitated, "Why?"

"I am unable to say why," Senior replied, "I only know what I know."

Ron was already out into the hallway, Kim looked at Senior once more, and said almost apologetically, "We'll try to save your son as well."

Then she stepped out of the room and followed after her husband.

Henry Jones Senior moved to a chair by the window, sat down and began to wait. He watched as the Ninjet lifted itself up into the night sky and disappeared. Whatever was happening, he knew that he would soon be involved somehow. For the next two days he did not sleep, and ate only sparingly, waiting for what was to come. At some point he realized that he was not simply waiting.

He was standing vigil.

••

He was growing impatient. But Bader knew how to control his emotions. He had been practiced at it for more than a decade now. Hiding as a post-war Nazi was child's play compared to the deeper subterfuge he was engaged in. Soon, none of that would matter. He was in possession of the approximate location of the head of the Tempus Simia, and shortly he would be in possession of the head itself. It did not occur to him that he might be mistaken. His source had a track record of never being wrong.

Movement startled him. The body of the Tempus Simia had been wrapped carefully in soft cloth, which was now rippling back and forth in his lap. Curious, Bader carefully unwrapped the treasure and stared in disbelief. The stone symbols grasped by the stone monkey's paws began to strike each other. Watching solid stone move was a wonder in of itself, and his men gathered around to gaze in awe.

The moment they had learned the head piece was in Australia they had been on the move. The exact location had not yet been revealed, but it was known to them that Indiana Jones and the Lieutenant would be delayed by a few days while they played out some ruse to get the Japanese government to let them out of the country with the clues to the whereabouts to the headpiece.

Bader and a large team of highly trained Nazi commandos had flown non-stop to a secret Japanese Submarine base on an island off the coast of northern Australia, then proceeded to hijack a sub for themselves, and piloted it to a spot near the town of Darwin. Under cover of night, they walked into town disguised as a Belgian Scientific expedition setting out to discover some new species of plant in the Australian Outback. Having received the exact coordinates of the supposed location of the headpiece, they rented trucks and purchased supplies for the three-day journey into the Outback.

In the meantime, the remainder of Bader's small army was already in Africa.

Bader and his men were encamped near the location the headpiece was thought to be. Time was growing short, however. He had just received word that Dr. Jones and Lieutenant Possible were leaving Japan tonight and would be in Australia in about thirty hours. Gazing at the clapping symbols, it occurred to Bader that the final piece to the puzzle of the whereabouts of the headpiece had been solved.

"This is a sign," Bader stood up in the dim firelight and held the clapping figure aloft, "The headpiece of close! This will lead us to it!"

A cheer went up from his men.

••

The aircraft was moving south through the night sky, having left Japanese airspace the evening before and crossing a good deal of that part of the Pacific Ocean and the myriad of islands between Japan and Australia. Zim took a slightly westward parabolic course in order to be near one of the major island chains – such as the Philippines – in case something went wrong with the plane. Neither of them had said much on the trip. Indy traced his customary red lines in pencil across his map and noted how some of them crisscrossed once or twice. As he gazed at his map, he discovered that the idea of getting from China to Australia some time around the year 400 might not have been such an impossible task after all. It was likely the monks simply hopped from island to island as they moved through what was now Indonesia and the Fijis. Casually, he said as much to the Lieutenant.

"That doesn't surprise me," Zim answered, "This idea that humans took thousands and thousands of years to cross continents and settle them always seemed kind of silly to me."

Indy nodded, grateful for the chance at intellectual discussion rather than personal questions or the possibility of her catching on to his suspicions. Those were bothering him the most. The more he thought about it, the more he began to believe that Zim might be a Russian spy. Yes, she had thwarted Stukhov, but it wouldn't be the first time in history that a spy sacrificed a countryman in order to keep his – or her – cover identity protected. He turned thoughts of a suspicious nature over and over in his head as he kept up the pretense of conversation.

"I don't think it's all that hard to fathom that humans moved across Asia in a relatively short span; say, a thousand years or so." Indy postulated.

"Why just Asia?" Zim queried, "We know tribes and even nations of people have been displaced throughout time. Who's to say it took any more than a few decades to move across the Bering Straights and into North America?"

Again Indy nodded, but this time he was genuinely intrigued. The Lieutenant was smart, there was no question of that, but her intellect genuinely attracted him. Vaguely it occurred to him that she might just be the academic equivalent of Mata Hari; paired up with Indy in order to learn his secrets, and be there when he made his inevitable discovery, only to make off with it when the time was right. It was insidiously clever. Someone had clearly figured out his weakness for strong, intellectual females, knowing that would be the only way to…

…oh who was he kidding? Indy practically chuckled to himself as he came to the realization that he wasn't very good in the self-control department. He'd once allowed himself to be seduced by an undercover Nazi in Venice. Fortunately for both Indy and his father, Elsa never came back from the attempt to recover the Holy Grail, and in subsequent debriefings by U.S. Intelligence agents, both father and son agreed that it was better that she didn't exist; otherwise those agents were bound to get overly curious as to why a prominent History Professor _and _his son had been seduced by the same Nazi spy.

Aloud, Indy said, "I can see that. Since customs and traditions tend to develop in a relatively short time, cultures can spring up in the span of only a few generations."

"Right," Zim turned to look at him with tired eyes. Indy had taken some of the piloting duties off her hands, but she still hadn't gotten much sleep since they left Japan, "And that's about, what, fifty years? Who's to say the North American Indian tribes weren't there for but a couple hundred years or so?"

"Not I." he said with his customary lopsided grin. Her eyes may have been tired, but they still had that unexplained spark in them that drew him to her. Indy found his mental defenses against her weakening; more so when she returned his smile. Uncomfortably, he adjusted his fedora and looked out into the night sky.

"After all," she continued, wondering why he seemed suddenly subdued, "It's not as though the intelligence of the average human being has increased in the last few thousand years. Only the technology has improved."

"This is true," and again, Indy's intellectual curiosity was piqued, "We assume man spent millennia with just the wheel and the horse cart because he lacked the intelligence to improve upon it."

"Maybe he was just too busy moving around. Remember, a good portion of discoveries in the last few hundred years have come from larger, more permanent settlements, like long-established cities." Zim offered.

"Where the inhabitants had time to practice things like hobbies, art, or scientific experiments," Indy offered back.

Zim nodded, warming to the conversation, "Rome had an underground water system, and a network of roads, but we tend to see the citizens of that empire as barbaric and war-like."

"Which they were," Indy countered, "but there was also plenty of time for things like philosophical debate, or artistic activities, or architectural achievements. So are you heading toward a point in all this?"

Zim shrugged, "Not necessarily. Just stating that it is highly possible things progressed at a much faster rate than we assume they did. You're an archeologist, don't you think if it had taken so long for humans to spread across the earth, you'd be finding _much_ more in the way of artifacts or skeletons? And wouldn't the population of the earth be far greater than it is now?"

"Maybe," Indy allowed, "But nature has a way of curbing baby booms with plagues, or wars."

"Good point."

"Still," Indy didn't want her to think he was trying to shut down the conversation, "You make some valid arguments. Although I don't really dig up skeletons; I go looking for artifacts and often bump into quite a few of them."

"Artifacts?"

"Skeletons."

"Ah, don't they give you the willies?"

"Not really. In fact, for some odd reason, I feel rather comfortable around skeletons. Always have, don't know why."

"I bet you're attracted to abnormally thin women."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Do me a favor, look out your side and tell me if you see any moonlight reflecting off the water."

Indy shot her an odd glance and then looked out. He could clearly see a three-quarter moon above, but no reflection from the ocean below. He turned to Zim and shook his head.

Zim nodded in return, "I thought as much. We're over Australia now, somewhere near Darwin I should think. If your calculations are correct, we need to turn southwest."

Indy took a breath and let it out slowly, "I keep forgetting this country is the size of the continental United States. If my calculations _aren't_ correct, we could be searching for awhile. You reported all my findings to Eaton, didn't you?"

Zim simply nodded.

"Maybe we should get some help with the search," Indy suggested.

"Colonelr Eaton would be unable to arrange it on such short notice," Zim said dismissively.

'_No he wouldn't',_ Indy thought to himself, _'You're definitely hiding something from me Lieutenant.'_

••

"What are you hiding from me?"

"Huh?"

"I know that face", Ron Stoppable said to his wife as the Ninjet slid silently through the night air, streaking northwards toward Canada, "Talk to me. I know you're not this worried about Ronnie-Anne."

Kim smiled in the darkness. No one on earth knew her like Ron did, and she liked it that way. He was right, she wasn't worried too much about Veronica. They'd dealt with hostage situations before; the Tweebs, her father… seemed like everyone among her family and friends had been captured by a villain at one time or another. Yes, there was a little bit of added worry because it was their daughter, and it was her first abduction. But a lifetime of hero work had taught Kim that if any harm was intended toward Ronnie-Anne, she would not have been taken. Dementor and Locke wanted leverage on them for some reason, or perhaps-

"My grandfather!" Kim exclaimed suddenly.

"Huh?"

"They took Ronnie-Anne because they have my grandfather. If my great-grandfather knows where the Ark is, it's a sure bet my grandfather knows its location."

"And you think they took Veronica in order to get Dr. Jones to tell them the location of the Ark?"

"That's part of it. That, and Locke's hatred of you."

"Well, that's never been a secret, but there are better ways of getting to me than… well, no, maybe there aren't." Ron corrected himself.

"It's a dual purpose operation," Kim surmised, "Dementor wants to get my grandfather to give up the location of the Ark, while Locke wants to take his revenge out on you. What better way to accomplish this than by taking your daughter?"

Kim suddenly felt tingles shoot all through her. She had come to recognize this as a flare-up of the mystical monkey power her husband had passed on to her. She had furthermore come to recognize that when she felt the power surge through her for no apparent reason, it was because her husband was feeling some very powerful emotions.

And in this case, it wasn't too difficult to guess what he was feeling.

••

He was getting very angry indeed.

They had to set down in a lake some thirty miles from the supposed location of the head piece. Indy wasn't much for hiking such a distance, but they had no choice. The sun had come up during their flight into the interior of Australia and when they reached the spot where he thought the head piece might be, Zim flew in slow circular patterns, searching for a place to set down. There wasn't even a solid plan for the search, and for all Indy knew, the temple could be hundreds of miles away. But in Japan, he, Zim, and his father studied all the latest topographical maps of any potential route between there and all points south, matching up clues in the ancient documents with any geographical features along the way. In the end, one thing was decided for certain; the journey had been a long and very arduous one, and they had taken great pains to make sure the head piece was as far from the body as possible. There were still many questions that couldn't be answered, such as how the monks managed to get from island to island, and cross the southern pacific region to Australia itself, for they were indeed convinced it was Australia that became the final resting place of the head piece of the Tempus Simia. The documents spoke of strange creatures that bounded instead of walked, and small bear-like animals that ate only leaves; animals that could only come from one place.

This part of the Australian outback was fertile, though not densely forested. It was interspersed with large, reddish rock formations; some made of single mammoth stones, while others were jumbles of rocks piled upon each other. When they first got to the area, Indy was immediately filled with doubt. It was a massive expanse of countryside that stretched out to the horizon, and could contain any one of a hundred thousand places to hide the small headpiece. It would take an entire army months to search the area and there was still a high likelihood they wouldn't turn up anything. Whenever there were times like this, and throughout his life there had been plenty, this was usually when Indy's instincts would take over. He had found countless grave sites, secret entrances to temples, passageways, or any number of similar things on a hunch. This was one of his gifts; the ability to deduce an accurate conclusion based on extremely little information. There were times when he had been wrong, and once or twice a wrong conclusion had come very close to his demise, but for the most part, Indy could find a needle in a haystack just by telling which way the wind was blowing.

He surveyed the landscape and gazed at his map. To the monks, the act of setting up a temple for the headpiece would be very solemn and ceremonial. It would require a location that would have potential to look like a temple. He stared out the window again as Zim banked in long, slow circles, dismissing one potential location after another. Then, something piqued his interest.

"There," he said to Zim, pointing at a lone spire of rock about twenty feet high, "circle around again and fly over low so we can get a better look."

Zim merely nodded and did so, bringing the plane in very low over the tops of the trees. As they swooped over the spire of rock, something caught her eye, "What is that? Near the top of the formation!"

Indy saw it as well, and though he couldn't tell exactly what it was, he was sure of one thing, it was some kind of statuary that had been placed there deliberately. He looked at her and simply nodded, she pulled back up into the air and began looking for a place to land.

Four hours, a bumpy lake landing, and a long hike later, Indy and Zim emerged from a clump of trees to find what they were looking for, and then some.

"That's just great!" Indy said in disgust as he surveyed the clearing. The rock formation itself had what was obviously a stone door at its base, and this door was open. All around the opening were tracks; both human and vehicular. It was clear the tracks were fresh, and Indy was sure there had been no open door.

Jones felt a nudge in his side and turned his head to see Zim pointing toward the top of the spire. He followed her gaze and saw what he had seen from the plane; a small statuesque carving of what turned out to be a monkey. It was turned on its side. Indy stepped out into the clearing, but Zim held back.

"Whoever they are, they could still be in the area!" Zim hissed.

Indy shook his head without turning to look at her, "They got what they came for, and I don't hear any engine noises, so it's a good bet your friends are far away already."

"The Nazis are not my friends," she said coldly, "Neither are the Soviets. They wouldn't consider me much of a friend since I've already broken two of their codes."

Indy's face contorted in confusion, "We're spying on the Russians?"

Zim nodded, "If the Nazis had not risen to power, the second world war probably would have been about the Communist ideology. We've been getting reports about the atrocities Stalin has committed against his own people, and believe me Dr. Jones, Communism - or rather the Soviet/Marxist form of it - is a direct threat not only to the United States, but the democracies of this planet. The next war could be us against them."

"OK, OK," Indy turned back to face the rock, "This is a talk we should probably save for later. Let's go find out what we already know."

They stepped into the doorway. The only light inside the small shrine came from the outside, but they could see plenty enough. Chinese calligraphy peppered the walls, while a small pedestal stood in the very center of the rock. It was clear something once rested recently on this pedestal, but it was gone now. The question was, who had taken it? The Nazis or the Russians? Indy asked Zim who she thought it was.

"Doesn't matter, really." Zim responded, "If it was the Nazis, then they're already on their way to the temple in Africa. If it was the Russians, then they'll be going after the body piece, and then to Africa."

"So we're going to Africa to wait and see who shows up with the whole package." Indy concluded.

"And then we'll take delivery of that package, whether they want to give it to us or not."

••

In the Canadian Rockies of British Columbia, it was a crisp morning, and the sun had been bathing the peaks of the mountains for some time but was now beginning to work on filling up the valleys with its light. Snow crested only the highest elevations, while the rest of the region was a palette of evergreen and stone. Mountain goats danced nimbly from one precarious perch to the next, while eagles wheeled in the wind, or circled above lakes in search of breakfast.

At the far end of a very high, narrow valley was an abandoned lumber mill, its work having ceased some fifty years before. The main building was dilapidated and leaning slightly to one side, with open walls and a long assembly line of woodwork that still housed some of the saw blades. To the right of the main building was a waterfall which cascaded downward to a creek that ran off into the forest. The remains of an old bucket and pulley system – buckets on a long rope threaded through pulleys that powered the saw mechanisms in the shop – dangled from the top of the waterfall and ended in the shallow pool at the bottom. Railroad tracks once used by a lumber train ran off to the left, descended slightly then curved to the right when they reached the end of the valley.

There were two other buildings still standing; what had clearly been a bunkhouse used as living quarters for the lumberjacks and a separate, smaller building that probably had been the operations offices.

All in all, Ron would have thought it a very picturesque scene. But he had other things on his mind.

His daughter for one...

…and then there were the hoverjets streaking at them from seemingly nowhere.

…and the inbound missiles.

…and the fact that all communications with Wade had just been cut off, not to mention complete loss of control of the ninjet.

Understandable then that Ron was preoccupied.

"Ron!" Kim said with an extreme amount of nervousness in her voice.

"Nothing's working!" Ron said through gritted teeth. He fought with the steering controls but it didn't seem to matter. The engines had just shut own; whatever forward velocity the ninjet was achieving was purely momentum now, and the forward was rapidly converting into the downward.

"Do you think we should-?" but Kim's question was cut off when the first missile slammed into the ninjet and sent it into a spiral. Ron and Kim both watched helplessly as the ground spun sickeningly in front of them, approaching rapidly. Four more missiles pounded the aircraft, and both passengers lost all sense of direction; up or down. Ron managed to say a silent "thank you" to Wade for reinforcing the entire structure – as well as the windows – of the ninjet with transparent aluminum (an experimental alloy that had been developed recently by a plexi-glass manufacturer in San Francisco), rendering the exotic aircraft virtually indestructible…virtually. The frame did buckle a little and the windshield shattered in a spider web network of cracks, but the vehicle basically held together, even when it thundered into the earth and turned end over end until it finally came to a rest right side up near where the railroad tracks ended at the mill itself.

For a brief few seconds, the world seemed to be utterly silent, as is often the case when frighteningly loud noises suddenly cease. Echoes of the explosions worked their way down the valley and dissipated until all seemed eerily silent.

Ron was vaguely aware of a warm sensation at his feet, and the world around him seemed a dark gray. The urge to simply close his eyes and allow himself to sleep was overwhelming. But an alarming voice from deep within told him this was not an advisable course of action. There was trouble nearby, and it needed to be dealt with.

A dimly familiar voice, muffled and far away, called to him, "Come on Stoppable! I know you're alive! Don't let my fun be over so soon!"

Ron's head lolled over to one side and then his eyes opened wider as he caught sight of his unconscious wife slumped over in the passenger seat, held up by the restraining harness.

"Kim?!" He detachedly observed that he sounded like he had a mouth full of food. His shoulder was sore, and he felt a simultaneously dull and stinging pain on his forehead. Gingerly he reached up and touched where he thought the pain was emanating and instantly regretted it. The stinging was instantly overwhelmed by a dull throbbing sensation that forced him to grit his teeth and close his eyes.

"Wake up Stoppable!"

Ron forgot about his head pain as he suddenly felt as though his entire body had burst into flame. The pain was so intense it drew a rather loud cry from his lips, the yelling caused his head to hurt even more. It also stirred the woman next to him into consciousness.

"Ron?" The word croaked its way past her lips. "RON?!"

Stoppable writhed in agony as his mind struggled to decipher just where the pain was coming from. This wasn't localized to any one part of him. Then it stopped just as abruptly as it had begun.

"What happened?" Kim was still coming out of unconsciousness.

Ron looked over at her and winced. She already had a nasty bruise forming on the side of her face. It was then he realized that the pain in his head was probably caused from impact with the windshield when the first couple of missiles slammed into the Ninjet.

Again, the familiar voice from outside the aircraft, "All right Stoppable, I'm tired of waiting."

Three seconds later, two loud _thunk_s were heard on either side of the ninjet. Before Kim or Ron could react, the drivers' side door was torn away by some unseen machine, or machines. A mixture of fresh air and acrid smoke poured into the cockpit. Ron struggled with his harness, then with great effort, hauled himself out of the aircraft.

"You too Mrs. Stoppable!"

Kim let out a frightened yell of pain as she suddenly began squirming and struggling. Ron felt the mystical monkey power flare up within him and he knew she was feeling the same kind of fiery sensation he'd just felt a moment before. Kim abruptly stopped squirming and Ron leaned into the cockpit to help his wife out of her harness and found a very groggy Rufus was already hard at work on it.

"Rufus!" he whispered as loudly as he could, somehow fearing that whoever had brought them crashing to the ground, whoever was taunting them and ordering them around at this very moment, might also be able to hear them. "Can you contact Wade?"

"No he can't", came the voice again. Ron finally figured out who had been talking this whole time.

"Locke," he growled and scanned his immediate surroundings, finally seeing his foe standing on the conveyer belt leading to the large circular saw that was the central mechanism of the saw mill. The cybermonkey was perched on his shoulder. Ron moved menacingly toward the other man but was brought to his knees in blinding pain as he suddenly felt himself on fire once again. The monkey seemed to shriek with delight.

"Now now, agent Stoppable," Locke said casually as he punched a button on the IDOL and Ron's pain went away, "You'll have your chance at me soon enough. But first, before I hand you your last and most humiliating defeat, I want you to suffer."

Locke pushed a few buttons on the IDOL and Kim, who was just getting out of the ninjet, suddenly dropped to the ground in utter agony. Ron finally figured out that the blinding pain he and Kim had been experiencing was Locke using the IDOL to feed whatever electricity was stored in their battles suits back in on them. The effect was roughly the equivalent of multiple, simultaneous blasts from several different tazers.

Again, Ron moved menacingly toward Locke. Locked pushed several more buttons and Ron was brought to the ground, while Kim's pain cut off completely. After a few seconds, Locke shut off the feedback to Ron's suit.

"I really wish I had the Lotus Blade right about now." Ron half growled to his wife.

"I know, I'm sorry. I won't ever suggest you leave it at home for safekeeping again. But did you notice? He can't zap both of us at the same time!" Kim whispered to her husband as she struggled to help him to his feet.

Ron nodded, "Then one of us is going to have to get barbequed while the other gets the IDOL. I volunteer to get the IDOL."

Kim allowed the barest hint of a smile to play across her face. She knew her man was kidding, and she loved him dearly for maintaining his sense of humor in such situations. She couldn't imagine ever being with anyone else.

"Before you two decide who gets fried and who's coming after me," Locke seemed to anticipate their thoughts, "Let's see what your daughter has to say about the situation. Rolf?"

A very large henchman stepped somewhat timidly up to the conveyor belt from somewhere behind Locke. He looked shaken and had several nasty bruises on his face. Rolf whispered quietly to Locke for several seconds.

"What do you mean they're both gone? The old man too? How could they be gone!? FIND THEM! NOW!" Locke couldn't help bellowing.

Ron and Kim shared a quick look but did not speak. Their eyes communicated everything that needed to be said. Ron and Kim immediately sprinted for Locke who turned to face them just before they reached him. He slammed his fist down on the IDOL, bringing Ronin to the ground, then turned to deal with Kim. But she didn't even look at him. Instead, she vaulted over the conveyor belt, bringing her feet around to land squarely on Rolf's chest, slamming him to the ground. Without waiting to see if he would get up, Kim sprinted off into the compound in search of her daughter.

••

Ten minutes earlier, a very elderly Indiana Jones sat across from a very young Veronica Stoppable and did his best to smile at her reassuringly while Dementor, Locke and several henchmen were engaged in a heated discussion.

"For the last time, Locke," Dementor seethed, "I am not interested in your petty revenge fantasies. I contracted you to help me find the Ark of the Covenant."

"Which I have done," Locke pointed out, "We know it's in Middleton, and we know where in Middleton. All you need to do now is go and retrieve it. My part of this endeavor is completed."

Dementor shook his head slowly, "When I said 'find the Ark', you know full well I meant you were to help me acquire it."

Locke's turn to shake his head, "That's not how I see it. You and I are on different paths now, Professor. I have no interest in your mythological relic."

"Then give me the IDOL so I can go and get the Ark. Undoubtedly it is well secured, and I will need the device to get to its location." Dementor demanded.

Again, Locke shook his head, "I need the IDOL to carry out my vengeance. However, if you would like to remain until I have completed my task, then I will be happy to turn the IDOL over to you at that time."

Dementor thought for a few moments, "And you will eliminate Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable forever?"

Locke smiled a very cold, very sinister smile while looking down at Veronica, "I'll take care of the whole family."

"Very well," Dementor growled, "I will wait."

Locked clapped a friendly hand down on the shorter man's shoulder, "I think you'll enjoy watching the demise of your old nemeses," then he turned to the henchmen, "Which one of you has no qualms with inflicting pain on a little girl?"

Rolf stepped forward, "What is it you want?"

"After I bring down their aircraft with the IDOL. I'm going to torture them for a few minutes using their own battlesuits against them. At some point, they are going to try and negotiate for their daughter's release. At the moment they are brought down, I want you to come get the girl and bring her to me. See that she is in some pain when she is brought out. I want her shrieks of despair to be the last thing she utters while her parents watch her die."

Rolf nodded and took up a position near the doorway.

Locke turned to Dementor, "I trust you have no issues with any of this."

Dementor waved his hand dismissively, "She will merely be the first of millions. She, and her Jewish father. Once I have the Ark, I will purge this world of their kind for all eternity."

Indy's blood ran cold. But outwardly, he smiled at Veronica, who shyly smiled back at him. The girl knew they were still in trouble, but she felt safe with him around.

At that moment, another henchmen rushed in to the room, "Sir, the IDOL has assisted long range sensors in detecting an inbound, cloaked aircraft!"

"That's them!" Locke barked, "Everyone knows what to do! Take your places… and enjoy the show Professor Dementor."

Everyone cleared the room, leaving Rolf to stand watch over Indy and Veronica.

Indiana Jones turned his head and cast his one good eye over Rolf and instantly knew what kind of man he was. They weren't bluffing or kidding when they talked of ending the girl's life. Rolf's eyes were dead, almost glazed. They contained no feeling or emotion. Indy had seen this look before. It was the look of someone who was almost not even in control of himself; someone who had spent his life giving in to his darker urges and had grown to like it. Indy knew that not only would Rolf hurt the girl, he would probably get some enjoyment out of it.

Several loud roars were heard outside; the missiles were being sent to their target. If the aircraft was actually brought down… Indy looked at Rolf and his mind raced. His arms struggled against his restraints and he silently cursed himself for being an old and feeble man. The restraints weren't tied very tight, almost as though his captors were mocking his age and physical weakness. And though Indy knew his bonds would not be secure for a younger man, for him they might as well have been chains.

Explosions could be heard in the distance, Rolf shifted his weight and looked at Veronica. It couldn't be long now.

Indy's mind raced, and then it reached out.

'_I know You're out there,'_ the thoughts formed clearly in his head as though he had spoken them aloud, _'I have seen and felt Your power. I know I have no right to ask You for anything. But a little girl is going to die, and your Ark is going to be used for evil purposes.'_

Indy had never prayed much in his life, and doing so now almost made him feel guilty. Was it right to ask God for help when he hadn't been much of a follower of the Almighty most of his life? Now thoughts from his past raced through his head.

'_May He who illuminated this, illuminate me.' _Words spoken many times by his father when he was a young boy. Dr. Jones Sr. had dedicated his life to finding the Holy Grail, and when he had found it, he'd let it go, because ultimately his search had been not about the cup, but about He who had partaken of that cup.

And the Ark, now in real danger of being used as a weapon. But was that even possible? Could God be manipulated into using His might for evil just because someone possessed a relic He had blessed thousands of years ago?

'_Or perhaps'_, Indy thought, _'It's not so much about allowing Dementor to use it, as it is about not letting him defile such a sacred object with dark intent.'_

And there it was, a moment of clarity so sharp and resilient that it felt almost as though it pierced him to his very soul.

'"_This belongs in a museum!"'_

Words he had spoken an untold number of times throughout his life. And why? Because his life had not simply been dedicated to preserving artifacts for future generations, it was about making sure those artifacts could not be used for something so dirty and hideous as personal profit. The idea of relics being sold to collectors who hid them away and brought them out to show at parties in order to impress their guests had always made Indy's stomach turn. How much more so did the idea of Dementor trying to use the Ark for evil sicken him?

A massive thump outside, followed by several more smaller ones. Rolf began to walk toward Veronica.

Indy became frantic. He couldn't bear the thought of watching helplessly as the little girl was subjected to who knows what kind of pain and torture.

'_Please help us!'_ his mind pleaded. When he retrieved the Ark the first time, he'd come in brief though indirect contact with God. Then when he experienced the effects of the Grail, it was brief and indirect contact with His Son. Could they help him now? Or perhaps that third part of the Almighty just might…

'_My life for the girl.'_

The thought had come pouring from his mind before he even realized it was coherent.

"My life for the girl." Indy whispered.

Rolf stood in front of Veronica and glared down at her. She recoiled as much as she could against her restraints. Somehow she knew bad things were about to happen. Rolf was just reaching for her when he noticed something odd. Something about the light in the room had changed. He looked up and there was a shadow on the far wall, standing upright. Rolf whirled around.

The old man was gone, the restraints lay discarded on the floor. Standing in front of the empty chair was a much younger man, though he too was wearing a leather jacket and a fedora. He was also wearing a khaki shirt and canvas pants. A canvas bag was slung at his side, the strap across his chest and over one shoulder. He wore two belts; one which held up his pants and the other which held a holster. A whip was neatly coiled up and slung at his side. He had a rugged, slightly unshaven jaw, and square features. The mouth was set in a fiercely determined snarl. And his eyes… the young man's eyes were a seething cauldron of steel rage.

Rolf had been a henchman most of his life. He'd dedicated his existence to serving whatever villain paid him enough, and he enjoyed his work. He'd seen his share of fights, and been in plenty of bar brawls. But he never imagined any man on earth could hit another so hard as when Indiana Jones' fist slammed into his jaw seemingly out of nowhere. The henchman was lifted off his feet and sent sprawling, and it took him longer than he cared to admit to get back up. Indy was busy untying Veronica when Rolf advanced on them, somewhat hesitantly.

Indy didn't hesitate at all. He took two determined steps and swung, connecting a solid right hook to the side of Rolf's face, and instantly blackened his eye. Rolf swung almost half-heartedly, but Indy easily caught the fist with his own and brushed it aside while his other fist reared back and hurtled into Rolf's nose. There was a muffled snap, and blood began to spew forth. As his own hands came up to his face to protect it from any further damage, Rolf felt a hand on the back of his neck, and then felt his lungs involuntarily evacuate air as Indy's knee thundered into his abdomen.

Rolf crumpled up in a heap on the floor and did not move. Indy moved to Veronica and finished untying her. She looked somewhat confused, until she looked up into his eyes, both of which were now young and full of vitality. At that point she recognized him, and threw her arms around his neck.

"I've got you honey," Indy said softly as Veronica clung to him, "Let's see if we can find a way out of here."

••

"What's wrong, Locke? Too afraid to face me on even terms?" Ron sneered up at his opponent.

Bill Locke glared down at the boyish-faced ninja who grinned defiantly up at him despite the fact the feedback on the IDOL was turned all the way up. He shut it off, tossed the IDOL to the cybermonkey who was now perched at the top of the waterfall, and watched as Ron visibly relaxed.

"Who are you?" Locke asked in an almost hateful wonder. "I was a GJ agent for fifteen years, and never once was considered for Deep Field work even though that was the one thing I wanted most. In all that time, I managed to scrounge up maybe two dates with one of the gals in the research lab, and I didn't even like her very m-"

Ron knew it was bad form to punch a villain in the face when he was in the middle of a monologue. But that particular tradition demanded the hero exercise restraint in such moments only in the hopes of gaining valuable information. More often than not, the Villain would work him (or her)-self into such a frenzy that they eventually couldn't resist spilling their evil plans. However, since Ron pretty much knew Locke's plans, there was no need to sit through his drawn-out self-pity fest. What did he care what Locke's motivations for turning evil were? All he knew was that the man who was just now reeling back from meeting Ronin's fist had once been a hero, and had betrayed that ideal in favor of his own perceived victimhood. Of course, that was secondary to the fact that Locke had taken his daughter. Ron had a standing personal rule. If a villain commits a crime, bring him in alive. If that villain hurts a member of Ron's family, just bring him in.

Locke reeled back several steps and blundered into a tall lever, pushing it backward. Suddenly the surface beneath his and Ron's feet began to move. The conveyor belt - powered by the moving bucket line that had just been placed into the torrent of the waterfall by whatever mechanism was controlled by the lever - began to move toward a saw blade the size of a small car. The blade slowly began to turn, picking up speed. Locke glanced at it quickly and moved away from it, toward Ronin.

Ron took two steps toward Locke and then howled in pain, dropping to his knees. Up on the waterfall, the cybermonkey jumped and gibbered in glee as he turned the dial on the IDOL all the way up. Locked grabbed Ron by the scruff his shirt, glanced up at the cybermonkey, and then punched Ron in the face twice.

The feedback shut off again. Ron threw a left to Locke's jaw and both men went sprawling onto the conveyer belt. Ron glanced worriedly down the length of the belt toward the now rapidly spinning saw blade just in time to see a stray piece of wood shred to pieces under the rusty mechanism.

Locke picked up a length of pipe and swung, overhand, as hard as he could. Just in time, Ron snatched a pick-axe that lay nearby and blocked Locke's blow. He raised the axe and made to swing it at Locke when the cybermonkey re-engaged the feedback. Electricity surged through Ron's body, causing him to drop the axe and collapse to his knees. Locke went to his own knees and slammed a right fist across Ronin's jaw as hard as he could.

Rufus scampered beneath the conveyor belt toward the base of the waterfall and glared angrily up at the monkey, who was too busy hopping up and down in evil glee at Ron's imminent demise. The mole-rat made his way hastily over to the waterfall and flung himself at the lip of the nearest bucket, which had just come from beneath the surface of the water and began ascending. He pulled himself up to the rim and leaped upward, catching the next bucket and struggled to pull himself up.

Ron, still in pain from the blows and the feedback, writhed on the conveyor belt as Locke stood triumphantly over him, placed one foot on Ronin's chest, and began to dig his heel into the ninja. The cybermonkey shut off the feedback once more. Ron grabbed Locke's foot and twisted as hard as he could. Unable to help himself, Locke tumbled to the conveyor while Ron got up and ran up the belt, away from the saw blade. Again the monkey turned on the IDOL and again Ron seized up in agony, collapsing to the surface of the conveyor. Locke picked him up and slammed his right fist into Ronin's face, then once more stood above him and ground his heel into Ron's chest. This time the monkey didn't turn off the feedback, but grinned a hideous evil glee at watching his master's tormentor suffer, oblivious to anything else around him.

••

Kim Stoppable fought her way through several henchmen – they seemed to be everywhere, busily preparing for something – and into the inner workings of the compound. At every turn, after dispatching a henchman or two, she would call out her daughter's name. At one point, she stumbled through an outer door and into a large sort of courtyard in time to watch as a massive hoverjet lift into the air. Dementor stood on the edge of the loading platform of the jet and grinned down impassively at his one-time teen foe. He turned and walked into the interior of the aircraft as the loading door closed and the hoverjet soared into the air.

Kim was sure Doctor Jones and her daughter were on that jet.

"Veronica!" She shouted above the roar of the departing engines.

Dutifully, as though she had just been called to dinner, Veronica emerged from behind several bushes at the edge of the forest on the far end of the courtyard and ran toward her mom, who picked her up and hugged her very tightly. Veronica turned in her mother's arms and pointed up at the aircraft which was now a distant speck in the sky. She uttered several earnest words, but since her vocabulary included only one word in English, her mother did not understand what she meant. Kim felt the time to deal with Dementor would be later. For now, she needed to find Ron and help him.

••

Locke was no longer punching his rival. He simply stood there with a triumphant look on his face and his heel on Ron's chest, pinning him to the conveyor belt as they slowly drew nearer to the spinning saw blade. Ron was in agony. Blinding white fire seemed to course through him, rendering him helpless to even remove the heavy foot that pinned him down. He craned his neck and noticed with despair that the saw blade was now very close. He could feel the small wind from its spinning and vaguely began to wonder what it would feel like being cut in half lengthwise, and how long he would have to endure it before consciousness left him.

The cybermonkey, engrossed in Ronin's impending death, felt a tiny arm slither around his neck and slam him to the ground. The IDOL went tumbling away. Dazed, the monkey looked up into the face of pure, naked mole rat fury and felt a tiny fist hold him down as Rufus reached across him and attempted to grab the IDOL. The two struggled for several seconds as they each tried to get a hold of the piece of technology that was keeping Ron from doing anything but dying.

Kim came running into the area in time to see her husband's head move within inches of the saw blade.

Ron uttered a painful yell of desperation, and readied himself for his own death. His whole world was filled with the blurry motions of circular rusted metal.

In one last desperate move, Rufus moved himself upward and brought his elbow down on the monkey's chest. The monkey folded up while the mole-rat dove across him and slammed his tiny fist down on the IDOL.

The feedback shut off instantly.

Ron's head came up just before the blade took him as his hand snaked out and grasped whatever was nearby. Ironically, it was a handheld saw blade leaning against the conveyor. He brought the blade up and slammed it into Locke's side. Locked released his foot and fell with a pain-induced grunt. Ron scrambled upward and positioned himself astride Locke, pummeling him with his fists before he'd even settled on the man's chest. Locke endured a rapid succession of blows to his face from Ron's right fist, and struggled to get out from under his enemy.

Kim looked from the top of the waterfall to the conveyor belt and for several seconds, she almost thought she was seeing double.

Rufus barreled his right fist across the monkey's face, then brought it back across in a…

…vicious backhand that made Locke's head snap backward. Ron repeated the move, once again thundering a right fist across Locke's jaw…

…and bringing it backhanded across the monkey's face, again causing his head to jerk backward. Rufus picked the monkey up by the scruff of the neck with his left hand and sent several rapid-fire blows into the face of the gibbering simian with his right fist.

Locked grabbed a stray piece of wood and bashed it into the side of Ron's head, causing him to fall backward, away from the saw. Both men scrambled to their feet, but Locke was just too close to the spinning blade. It caught the villain's pant leg and pulled him in. In a blind panic, Locked grabbed wildly about for something to hold on to, and managed to catch a rope that went upward, through a pulley, and back down to hang just near where Ron was standing.

Instinctively compassionate, Ron grabbed the rope and pulled as hard as he could to try and free his opponent but it was too late. In less than half a second, Locke was pulled into the blade and perished screaming.

Kim covered her daughter's eyes and turned away. Ron was pulled up to a catwalk above the conveyor and also turned his head away, unwilling to see what came out at the end of the conveyor.

It wasn't much.

The cybermonkey managed to struggle free of Rufus's grasp and hit the mole-rat several times, knocking his opponent to the ground. Rufus came up with the IDOL and swung it, slamming it into the cybermonkey's face and shattering that part of the simian's head that was metal and circuits. The monkey let out a howl of rage and came at Rufus, who sidestepped his attacker's charge and watched as the monkey plunged over the ledge and into the pool below. The water shorted out whatever was keeping the cybermonkey alive and its pitiful existence ended only seconds after its master's. Rufus tossed the IDOL into the water as well and watched as it also shorted out, becoming a virtually useless hunk of metal and wiring.

"Ron!" Kim called up to her husband, "We have to get out of here! This place is still crawling with Locke's henchmen!"

As if to confirm this fact, one of them charged Ron. The ninja grabbed onto a cross beam above him and swung both his feet into the attacker's chest, sending him plunging to the ground below. Ron took two steps and then uttered a weary, frustrated grunt as another henchman came at him with a length of pipe. Ron ducked the swing, threw a fist into the man's face, and sent him tumbling over as well.

Ron looked to the top of the waterfall, pointed, and bellowed, "Rufus! Quit fooling around with that Monkey and get down into the ninjet!"

Rufus gave him a thumbs up and began to make his way down the waterfall.

In the meantime, Kim had run over to the ninjet and took quick stock of the situation. It was clearly out commission. She couldn't bring any of the internal systems up, the windshield and some of the body parts had been severely damaged, and all four tires had been scorched off by fire. Only the rims remained.

This gave Kim an idea.

Suddenly, henchmen came pouring out of the woodwork, some of them armed with blasters. Ron ran down the length of the catwalk only to be set upon by four goons. To tired to fight it out, he turned and ran back the way he had come. Blaster fire seared through the air.

Fortunately for Kim, no one was taking notice of her as of yet. She set Veronica down, got around behind the ninjet and put her shoulder to the bumper, pushing with every ounce of strength she had in her. Slowly, almost maddeningly, the car that had once been an aircraft began to inch forward, rolling across the ground on its rims. As blaster fire sizzled through the air above her and her daughter's heads, Kim managed to get the ninjet onto the railroad tracks, its rims settling perfectly onto the rails almost as though the one-time Lamborghini had been a mine cart in a previous life. The vehicle almost immediately began to roll down the ever-so-slight incline that led away from the lumber camp and down the narrow mountain valley. Kim shouted quickly to Ron, picked up Veronica, and climbed into the ninjet.

Rufus scampered across the open ground and onto the tracks, running as quickly as he could toward the rolling vehicle. Kim leaned out and peered behind her just in time to see a henchman running as fast as he could toward the mole-rat.

"Rufus! Behind you!"

The mole-rat quickly dodged to the side, catching the henchman off guard. The goon tripped and fell but managed to catch the back bumper of the ninjet with his hands. The car dragged him along for several yards while Rufus ran out onto the tracks, up the back of the bad guy, and scrambled up onto the rear end of the ninjet.

"Rufus!" Veronica squealed and clapped her hands as the little pink rodent made his way into the cockpit.

Kim's jaw dropped, and then she smiled as she shook her head at her daughter, "Your father is going to be so jealous that he isn't your first word."

Henchmen closed in around Ron on the catwalk. The one closest to him swung an axe. Ron ducked and the blade sliced through a rope holding up several pieces of equipment attached to a zip line. The equipment crashed to the ground, while Ron grabbed what was left of the rope and swung himself out over the compound. The zip line carried him along the tracks as blaster fire cut through the air all around him. He caught up to the ninjet and dropped lightly onto the hood.

The car picked up more speed on the railroad tracks and made its way out of the lumber camp and down the narrow mountain valley.

••

They had discovered the temple – that, at least, was what Indy was calling it for lack of a better term – through a combination of luck and deductive reasoning. Mostly luck. Africa being the vast continent that it was, they made their best guess and decided to search the Congo river basin. Midway through the first day, Indy acted on a hunch and directed Zim to fly up one of the tributaries which they spent the rest of the day exploring. Just after sunset, they received two surprises; one pleasant, and the other rather nasty.

The pleasant surprise was, of course, the discovery of what Indy was absolutely positive was the temple that held the power to activate the Tempus Simia. The unpleasant surprise was the sight of a camp, electric lights, a roughly built aircraft runway carved out of the jungle, and several German aircraft, including six BF109 fighters in the immediate vicinity of the structure.

"That's it", they both said simultaneously to each other.

"Despite the fact that it's a giant monkey head carved from stone, that temple is clearly far-eastern architecture somewhere between the second and fifth centuries. It has to be the location where one is supposed to take the assembled talisman and discover its power." Indy hastily explained to Zim.

"And those Nazi aircraft aren't there at random. They've been busy down there, but how could they be this far ahead of us when in Australia we arrived so soon after they had been there?" Zim wondered aloud as she circled around for another overhead pass of the area.

Indy cast an untrusting glance at her and was about to voice his suspicions of her double agent status when something occurred to him, "This isn't the same team that was in Australia. These guys have been sent here in advance while a detachment was dispatched to Australia to recover the head piece. But I don't understand how they would know where to look, they never discovered the treasure chamber beneath Osaka Castle."

Zim connected the dots, "They didn't need to. They probably knew about this place all along. I don't know if you ever heard about this, but Hitler had teams of Nazi Archeologists scouring the globe for relics he hoped would bring some sort of supernatural power to his armies."

Indy nodded, "I'd heard something like that awhile back."

"We know for certain the Italians conquered Ethiopia," she continued, "But we never really knew the extent of just how far into Africa they or the Nazis managed to extend their reach. At some point, someone may have discovered this temple and reported back to their superiors."

Indy snapped his fingers in both realization and a sudden recall of a memory, "A French archeologist by the name of Belloq once bragged to me that he had discovered a Chinese temple in Central Africa! He was always doing jobs for the Third Reich. There may be writings or carvings in that temple that indicate the location of the head and body pieces. Or at least they would indicate the existence of those pieces via the instructions on how to acquire the power contained in the idol."

Indy fell momentarily silent while gazing at the lieutenant. His suspicions about her being a spy were cast in doubt once again. If the neo-Nazis had pieced together the information from the site below them…but there were still questions he couldn't quite answer. In any case, some measure of trust in her had just been restored.

"Do you know what happened to this archeologist?" Zim asked, "Is there any way to contact him?"

"No," Indy said firmly, "About five years before the war, he had an encounter with a Higher Power that basically blew his mind."

Zim looked at him quizzically and was about to ask him what he meant when several immensely loud pops rattled the plane. Hot metal went whizzing by Indy's face and shattered the glass on his right. He looked wildly around and then had to brace himself as Zim pulled sharply up on the wheel, lurching the plane into a steep climb. Then a rumble caught his attention and he looked out what remained of the shattered window and caught the tail of a BF-109 as it passed beneath them heading almost in the opposite direction.

"Someone warned them we were coming!" Zim shouted as she put the plane into a dive and banked sharply away from the temple.

As much as Indy wanted to tell her to stay close to the temple, he decided it would be best to figure a way out of their current predicament and then come back later and decide what to do about getting access to the temple.

"Grab the Browning and get back to the rear hatch!" Zim shouted, "See what you can do to slow him down while I try to lose him somehow. And tie yourself down with something! I'm not going to lose you after coming this far!"

Indy was already moving, but her sentiment wasn't lost on him. "You won't," he said quietly.

Somehow, over the noise, she had heard him.

Indy struggled to make his way to the rear of the aircraft; a Herculean task considering the plane's bucking and rolling under the strain of Zim's attempts to evade the German fighter craft. Both the archeologist and the lieutenant knew, however, that evading the smaller, more maneuverable plane would take a miracle beyond the capabilities of Zim's piloting skills.

Looking about the increasingly darkening cabin, Indy finally spied the large Browning Automatic Rifle and heaved it up to rest on his shoulder, making his way to the rear hatch. It took most of his strength to pull the door open and secure it. Before he did so, he lashed himself with a rope to what he hoped was a sturdy anchor point on the floor. It was somewhat hard to see with the deep twilight and the wind rushing into his face, but Indy figured the Browning would do little more than distract the German pilot anyway, so aiming wasn't a crucial priority.

Zim glanced back briefly in his direction to make sure he was all right, then did a double take, "How does your hat stay on like that?"

"Staples!" He yelled back dryly.

The 109 was coming around for another pass. The pilot apparently did not see the man standing at the rear hatch of the large amphibious aircraft. Indy raised the gun to waist level and pulled the trigger. Fire spewed forth in rapid staccato flashes from the muzzle of the rifle. One or two bullets must have found a target because the fighter craft suddenly banked hard right and away from them. Indy took the opportunity to slap another clip into the rifle and raised it again, waiting tensely, knowing the German would not make the same mistake twice. In the dim twilight, he watched as the enemy craft swung around; a menacing shadow that receded, minimized, and then began to grow again. Indy clenched his teeth and raised the rifle, this time to his shoulder. When he felt the 109 was in range, he pulled the trigger and braced himself against the repeated knocks of the rifle butt on his shoulder. Again, fire erupted from the gun. This time, the German plane continued on a diagonal course toward the rear of their plane but did not swing around to line up its guns with the larger plane's engines or cockpit. For a brief second, Indy thought it was coming straight for him, but then something about its trajectory told him otherwise. He continued firing as the German plane swung around behind their tail and then straightened out for a shot. Indy was so intent on firing at the other aircraft that he had to abruptly pull the gun up or risk shooting their own tail off.

It was then a sudden realization came to him.

"He shot us down!" Jones shouted.

"What!?" Zim hollered back over her shoulder.

The plane suddenly began to shimmy as the BF-109 tore their left wing nearly to shreds.

"Get up here!" Zim bellowed, "We're going down!"

With many annoyed grunts, Indy clawed and pulled his way to the front of the plane, just barely managing to strap himself into the co-pilot's chair once more.

"He shot us down" Indy yelled again, incredulous.

"I know he shot us down!" Zim yelled back, struggling with the controls.

"No, not him!" Indy gestured vaguely toward the direction of the 109, "My dad!"

"Huh!? Zim shouted in disbelief.

"About seven years ago, my dad and I were in a biplane being pursued by German fighters. He was manning the rear gun while I flew. I think he shot out our own tail section and blamed it on the Nazis! He lied to me!"

"You do realize we're in the process of crashing, right?" Zim was beside herself.

"I've crashed before," Indy said with a dismissive wave, "I can't believe he lied to me like that!"

"_You_ didn't shoot us down just now and lie to me about it, did you?" Zim asked sarcastically.

Indy merely and glared at her.

Zim nodded toward the instrument panel above his head, "See that black lever on the roof? Get ready to pull it toward you when I say so."

Indy couldn't tell if the ground was looming because it was so dark by now. Zim switched on the exterior landing lights and almost yelped to see the tops of the trees whipping by so close to the bottom of their plane. Indy reached up and placed his hand on the lever. Zim looked about quickly, then turned the controls hard over to the left. The plane responded, but sluggishly, slowly arcing to its port side. The treetops ended abruptly, below them was only darkness, and the air suddenly got a little cooler. They were over the river.

"There," Zim pointed. The craft arced back to the right, and again treetops began whipping by, though they were much closer.

"Lieutenant?" Indy was suddenly nervous.

"Just be ready with that lever!" Zim shouted.

Indy gritted his teeth as they rapidly approached a fairly narrow space between two very tall trees.

"Are you crazy?" Indy shouted, "Don't go between them!"

Zim pushed forward slightly on the controls, nosing the craft downward.

"Now!" Zim shouted just before they hit the trees.

Indy yanked back as hard as he could on the lever a split second before the fuselage passed almost perfectly between the two massive trunks. A loud crash accompanied a violent lurch slightly to the right as the plane's forward momentum was drastically reduced. Zim and Indy's heads whipped forward and then snapped back as the fuselage plummeted downward. When they hit the water, they were treated to a very brief look beneath the surface of the river through the forward windows, then the craft surged upward as water ran off the nose (some of which came in through Indy's broken window) and frothed all about the plane. Then for a second there was only the sound of lapping water and the distant rumble of the German plane. Zim switched off the lights and they both held their breath. The enemy plane passed over them once or twice, but by then it was too dark to see anything. It circled, then retreated toward the last of the fading light in the west.

"Well, that was someth-" Indy turned toward her.

But Zim was already up and moving. She opened a storage compartment in the rear of the plane and pulled out a heavy piece of iron with a loop on one end. She took the rope and looped it through the iron, tying it off. Then she tied the other end to the same point Indy had tied his rope and tossed the iron into the water. A moment later, Indy swayed on his feet as the momentum of the plane was halted and the anchor did its work.

"Detachable wings," Zim said, anticipating his question, "That lever released the main anchor bolts holding the wings to the fuselage, but it takes a whole crew of mechanics to remove them and since we didn't have a crew on hand…"

"You knocked them off with the trees," Indy said smiling, "But why go to the trouble of removing them at all?"

Zim gave him a look as though he should have known the answer to that, "So we can float back down to the temple, of course. Didn't you notice I was staying within eyesight of the river?"

"I was kind of busy," Indy replied with wonder, "I'm impressed. Not that many people can think with a clear head in such situations."

"Part of my training I suppose" she shrugged, "Anyway, the wings would have just added extra weight and we need to be as light as possible if this is going to work."

"What exactly are you proposing?" Indy had no clue.

"Well, the wings are gone, but we still have the engines," Zim explained, "In theory, we should be able to use what's left of this plane as a sort of swamp boat, like those found in the Florida Everglades."

"But the fuel was housed in the wings," Indy pointed out.

"We can rig the last fuel drum up between the engines and run the intake lines in there," Zim replied, "And we should be able to detach the rudder and re-attach it to its two lower anchor points on the tail. The bottom of it will then be in the water and function like a regular boat rudder."

"In theory," Indy said with a grin.

"In theory," she smiled back.

"You really are a piece of work Lieutenant Possible," Indy took his hat off and brushed back his hair, "So when do we get started?"

"Not until morning. For the time being, we eat," she ordered, "Then we rest. The work will have to be done at first light. All we have is this one flashlight and we'll need to conserve its power."

"But what about the landing lights?" Indy asked.

"They were on the wings," Zim said with a forlorn nod.

There was silence for a short time.

"OK, so when does room service get here?" Indy asked with a grin.

Zim brightened, "I'm afraid the menu is limited."

"It's all right," Indy's grin broadened into a warm smile, "Your company will more than make up for the food."

Zim quickly turned the flashlight away from her own face which was in the process of blushing, and moved to one of the storage compartments, pulling out a couple of field rations and a container of water along with two small emergency candles and matches. Indy draped a cloth across a crate to make a crude table with their duffels to sit on.

The candles lit, Zim set the field rations before them and opened the canteen, taking a drink and then passing the container to him.

Indy sighed wistfully and grinned, "I thought I'd eaten my last one of these. I'm betting they still taste like cardboard with just a slight hint of actual food flavoring."

Zim giggled, "Some of them are actually rather tast-…no, you're right, they're horrible. When have you had these before?"

"When I was in the service," He gave her an odd look.

"Which service?" Zim asked through a mouthful of food, "I remember Colonel Eaton saying the U.S. had kept you from being drafted."

"Well yes, in the technical sense. My teaching position at Marshall was suspended because it was deemed temporarily unnecessary by the Department of War. That would have made me eligible for the draft."

"I thought you would have been too old," Zim said stone faced.

Indy scowled at her, "That's very funny, _Lieutenant!_ Didn't you see my file before we met?"

"No," Zim shrugged, again talking through a mouthful of food. Had Indy done that it would have been disgusting, but on her, it was endearingly cute, "The Colonel briefed me before I flew to Guadalcanal to pick you up, but all he told me was who you are, what you do, and what the U.S. wanted you for. So what do you mean you were technically kept out of the draft?"

"I mean I served," Indy explained, "But not with any of the regular forces. I was with the Office of Strategic Services throughout the war."

Zim suddenly stopped chewing and her jaw dropped, "You were in the OSS?"

Indy nodded, a very self-satisfied grin spreading across his face in anticipation of her next question, "I was discharged a full Colonel soon after the Japanese surrendered."

Zim dropped the morsel she had been intending to put into her mouth the second she swallowed the previous one. She ignored it.

"Then you're… you are…," She leaned forward and glared at him through narrowed eyes, "What is your real name, including your rank?"

"Colonel Henry Jo-"

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Zim immediately stood up and bumped her head on the roof of the plane. She stood there, hunched over slightly, rubbing her head and gesturing almost furiously at Indy, "You're _that_ Colonel Henry Jones of the OSS?"

"One and the same, sweetheart." Indy finally felt like he had the upper hand for once, and he was going to enjoy it to its fullest.

She sat back down again and pointed at him, "Did you really help Clause Helberg and the other Norwegian Commandos destroy the Nazi supply of deuterium at Telemark?"

Indy nodded, "Clause and I still keep in contact with each other. I got a medal for that mission, and originally I wasn't even supposed to be on it."

"I know you got a medal," Zim said with wonder, "And officially, you never were part of that team. Did you know you were destroying Hitler's only shot at an atomic weapon?"

"I wound up going as a technical advisor because of the conversations I'd had with Albert." Indy leaned over, pointing at her in a manner conveying the message that he was about to tell a story, "You know we didn't even get the whole supply, The Nazis managed to-"

"'Albert'? You met Albert Einstein?" Zim demanded.

"He had some questions about an artifact that-"

But Zim was impatient, "Did the mission in Berlin really happen the way I heard? With you and that British Secret Service man acting as double agents?"

"Yeah, his name's George McHale. Good guy. He and I didn't even know the other was an intelligence agent, much less under cover as 'doubles'. We discovered each other's secret when this girl we both knew at a pub in Berlin-"

"All this time!" Zim said shaking her head, "All this time I've been working with Colonel Henry Jones."

"I suppose you ha-"

"And you outrank me!"

"Well," Indy no longer wanted to rub it in, "I was discharged. I'm a civilian again."

"You probably saved this planet with what you did at Telemark." She said almost accusingly, "Why didn't you tell me? Oh that's right, you thought I had read your file! I don't even have clearance to read your file!"

"Now remember," Indy explained, "We didn't get the whole supply of deuterium, Clause had to take a team back in and destroy the remaining barrels, and I wasn't even there for that."

"Why did you spit out the word lieutenant every time you said it?"

Indy sat back and simply gazed at her, "Our initial meeting wasn't exactly a friendly one. You said I could either call you Lieutenant Johnson, or just lieutenant."

"So you said it all this time knowing you outranked me! I must look like such an ass!"

"Now hold on, Zim, I never said you looked like-"

Sometimes it is the oddest of places that chemistry can mix in just the right amounts and create an atmosphere that seems almost fictionally romantic. When Zim had lit the candles and turned off the flashlight, the interior of the plane was washed in a warm, but very dim glow. The gentle rocking of the fuselage in addition to the sounds of the water lapping against the aircraft and a cool breeze drifting in and out…

Indy never finished his sentence because she leaned across the table, pinned him to the side of the plane, and kissed him.

••

The ninjet looked a lot less like the sleek amphibious aircraft it once was, and more like the mid-80's Lamborghini Countach it had originally been. But the wheels were holding true to the rails and though it made some terrible noises – creaks and metallic grinding sounds – it did roll fairly free along the tracks, which seemed to be sloping downward at and increasing rate.

Veronica squealed in delight when her father climbed into the cockpit with the rest of them. He took his daughter in his arms and kissed her forehead, then handed her back to Kim.

"I still can't contact Wade," Ron said tapping the logo on his chest, "How about you?"

Kim shook her head.

"Rufus?" Ron turned to the rodent, "You're still active. Can you contact Wade?"

Rufus shook his head and pointed at the base of his skull and gibbered the word "battery!"

"How long will it last?" Ron asked his friend.

Rufus held up a paw with four claws extended.

"Four hours?" Kim conformed.

Rufus nodded.

"Locke must have used the IDOL to shut down all our communication signals at the source instead of just interfering with them. You think there's a chance we can call up the Lotus Blade at this distance?" He looked at Kim with a half grin.

"It's at Monique's store, remember? Even if we could, someone might get hurt." She answered. It had been decided some time before that the best safe-keeping location for the Lotus Blade would be anywhere other than Ron or Wade's homes.

They were picking up speed now, nearing the outer edge of the valley. The ninjet thundered along the rails while Ron tapped the brakes lightly every now and then when they came to a curve in the tracks. Abruptly, the valley ended in an almost sheer cliff that plunged a couple of thousand feet downward. The tracks curved sharply to the right and ran along a very narrow ledge that had been carved out of the cliff face. The slight incline of the rails increased, as did the velocity of the ninjet.

Then, rocks burst forth from the cliff face above them, some of the smaller pieces raining down on their vehicle. Ron leaned out and look upward in time to see more blaster fire strike very close to them. He turned and looked back, then heaved an exasperated sigh as four hoverjets came streaking out of the valley and turned to bear down on them.

"We got company!" Ron said with some annoyance, "I was hoping that with Dementor gone and Locke dead, the rest of them would just give up."

"Maybe they have standing orders to kill us at any cost." Kim said thoughtfully, "Who knows? Maybe there's even an incentive clause with bonuses."

Ron gave her a look that informed her she was clearly not helping. He turned in his seat to get a better view of the incoming enemies. Rufus jumped down to the floor and worked the brake pedal.

"Let her go!" Ron said to the rodent, "Let go of the brake!"

"What?" Rufus gibbered.

"Let her go," Ron lifted his friend up off the floor and put him into Veronica's eager arms, "Our only chance is to outrun 'em!"

Blaster fire was now exploding all around them at an alarming rate. The ninjet hurtled forward, picking up speed exponentially. Kim squirmed around so she could get a good look at their pursuers. The cliff face abruptly curved to the right and blended into a steep mountainside, which meant the tracks had to curve abruptly as well. The ninjet lurched up onto its two left wheels and angled up precariously as it threatened to topple over the side and into the abyss below. For a split second, all four occupants in the vehicle got a terrifying view of thousands of feet of nothingness with the ground beyond. Just before the curve ended, the ninjet smacked back onto all for wheels and continued downward on the rails.

"Rufus!" Ron hollered, still gripping the back of his seat so as to keep from falling out of the car.

"Huh?" The rodent answered.

"Get down there and take the brake!" He set the mole rat back on the floor again, "Watch it on the curves or we'll fly right off the tracks! Kim, you let him know when a curve is coming!"

Terrified, Kim could only nod.

The tracks now twisted back and forth with the undulating curve of the mountainside. Kim barely had time to call out for brakes before the ninjet went thundering into a turn. They were moving so fast each of them was convinced the vehicle would fly off the rails at any moment. When they reached a short straight segment, one of the hoverjets moved in. Ron slid out of the cockpit and hauled himself up onto the roof of the car. Slowly, with blaster fire sizzling through the air all around him, he made his way to the rear of the vehicle and gripped the spoiler. Wrenching it free with all his strength, Ron stood up for a split second and hurled the spoiler straight up above his head, then flattened himself out on the vehicle again, just barely managing to keep himself from sliding off. The black piece of fiberglass sailed upward and glanced off the front windscreen of the closing hoverjet, but instead of bouncing away harmlessly, it got sucked into the air intake and instantly functioned like a wrench in the works. The engine whined, belched smoke, and lost power. The hoverjet dropped like a rock onto the tracks and exploded in a massive orange ball of fire that gave Ron very light burns on his exposed skin.

Despite the flash of heat, Ron managed to grin while Kim and Veronica cheered (Veronica wasn't sure why, but if mommy was doing it, she certainly was going to as well). The euphoria died instantly when two more hoverjets tore through the explosion and came hurtling at them. Ron scrambled around and looked forward. They were coming into thick forest as the mountainside grew less and less steep. The tracks ran straight and level for a good half mile. At the center point of this stretch of track was a massive stack of logs on a man-made platform hanging slightly out over the tracks. It was clear that at one point in the past, these logs were intended to be loaded on a train and taken up the mountain to be milled, but for whatever reason, no one had ever gotten around to retrieving them. The entire stack was being held up precariously by three individual logs that ran from the ground beneath the log stack diagonally up to a point where they held up the lip of the platform that hung out over the tracks. Ron scrambled back into the cockpit and threw himself across Kim's lap, grabbing her door handle and throwing open her door. Then he Pulled Kim and Veronica away from the door to the center of the cockpit. The scissor-like passenger door of the ninjet slid upward and slammed each prop log in rapid succession, tearing through the rotted wood almost like tissue paper. The door was wrenched completely off by the third prop, but it had done its work. All four of the vehicle's occupants peered behind them in time to see the massive pile of lumber come crashing down upon the tracks. The pilot of the lead hoverjet did not have enough time to react and slammed full force into the pile of debris and exploded, scattering shrapnel and massive shards of wood in all directions. The pilot behind him did manage to pull up in time, but his craft was shredded by all the flying rubble and fell to earth like a dying bird. It exploded on impact.

The ninjet shot out of the forest and back onto steep, rocky mountain terrain. The fourth and final hoverjet moved in, bearing down on them with its blasters firing as rapidly as possible. Small explosions erupted all around the ninjet, and some of the shots did hit the craft, but none of them made it inside the cockpit. Then the blasters fell silent. Ron peered out the side of the ninjet to see twisted and disfigured metal on various locations of the hoverjet.

"He melted his guns!" Ron called over his shoulder to his wife.

Kim laughed nervously and held on to her daughter. They were traveling so fast now that she began to wonder if the ninjet might not simply fly up into the air from the sheer speed. Incredibly, the hoverjet actually closed on them instead of pulling away as he expected it to. The roaring aircraft pulled up along side them, close enough so Ron could reach out his arm and almost touch the side of it. A door slid open on the side of the hoverjet revealing a henchman with a handheld blaster raised and about to fire. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Ron leaned out and grabbed the blaster by the muzzle, yanking it out of the henchman's hands. The action of being pulled forward sent the henchmen tumbling out of the aircraft. Ron went to turn the blaster around and lost his hold on the weapon, dropping it. A second henchman leaped through the door and landed on the roof of the ninjet. Ron scrambled out of the cockpit once more and swung a leg out, sweeping the goon's own legs out from under him. Two quick lefts and a solid right punch sent the henchman tumbling off the roof. In the meantime, yet another goon had leaped from the hoverjet to the cockpit and scrambled inside only to meet Kim's fist square in the face. He fell backward and out of the ninjet. Ron scrambled back into the cockpit as the enemy aircraft finally pulled away. The ninjet hurtled around a gradual curve to the left as Kim and Ron shared a triumphant smile. Then they both looked forward and their hearts stopped.

At some point in the past, the tracks had spanned a deep gorge about half a mile wide, but one rather harsh winter had piled up a huge amount of snow on the bridge and it had collapsed.

There was no way to stop in time. And while they were certainly traveling at high velocity, both Ron and Kim knew for certain they didn't have enough momentum to make it to the other side.

"Duck!" Ron practically screamed as he pulled his wife and daughter's heads down, then spread himself as protectively as he could across his family.

Rufus, on the other hand, had scrambled up over the back of the seats and into the engine compartment. Just before the tracks ended, the mole rat tore several wires from a panel and impaled himself in the back of the neck with them.

There was a spark.

The ninjet's engines roared to life.

Kim, Ron and Veronica were flattened against the seats as the craft surged forward, rocketed off the mangled end of the tracks, and sailed out over the gorge. Halfway across, the thrusters quit, but it was enough. Against every calculable odd, the ninjet dropped neatly back onto the rails on the other side, which now ran straight across a broad plateau, curved slightly to the left and then ran alongside a manmade lake.

Ron and Kim sat up and looked around in disbelief while Rufus struggled limply over the seats and collapsed wheezing into Ron's lap.

They rolled past the lake's outlet point, then the tracks descended gently into a wide canyon and followed alongside the river that flowed out of the dam.

"All right", Kim said, breathing heavily.

"What?" Ron asked, opening the glove compartment and gently placing Rufus inside.

"Brakes," Kim panted, "Put on the brakes."

"OK", Ron nodded with a smile and pressed down on the brake pedal as hard as he could. With a grinding of metal, the ninjet began to slow down. Then the brake line snapped and the pedal sank uselessly to the floor. Ron disbelievingly stomped on it several times before he accepted the fact the brakes were out. The ninjet surged forward once more.

A roar on their right drew their attention to the river. The last remaining hoverjet streaked low over the surface of the water, hurtling upstream. But it raced right by them and continued onward toward the dam, suddenly climbing high into the air and then returning once more into a dive back toward the surface.

As it happened, the last remaining henchman, nearly out of fuel and with completely melted blaster cannons, had devised one last ditch attempt to destroy the Stoppable family. When he reached the apogee of his climb, he set the hoverjet into a dive, pointing straight at the dam, then bailed out of the aircraft. His plan was to have the jet crash into the dam, flooding the shallow canyon and wiping the Stoppables off the face of the earth. He figured the initial deluge would surge beneath him as he sailed gently downward under his parachute and by the time he hit the water, the river would mostly be back to its normal flow. He figured he could swim to shore easily enough.

One or two things went wrong with his plan.

Because he was so low to the ground, he pulled the ripcord as soon as he stepped out of the hoverjet. The nylon rope holding him to the chute caught on the tail section of the aircraft. And while the parachute did actually deploy, it was now anchored to the jet which slowed the craft's downward progress considerably so that when it reached the dam, it merely bounced off, plunged into the water and sank, taking the pilot with it.

In the meantime, the ninjet was hurtling along as fast as it ever had up to this point. While the tracks' downward slope was indeed gentle and mostly straight, it was still downward. They raced involuntarily along the edge of the river, trying to figure out a way to slow themselves down or perhaps even stop. But their brainstorming session was cut short when the tracks followed a gentle bend in the river, straightened out, and then ended abruptly at an old wooden dock; presumably the place where the lumber was offloaded from the train and onto a freighter or a barge. The river itself also leveled out into a wide, placid avenue that was even now filled with recreational boaters and fishermen.

There was no time to do anything.

The ninjet sailed almost lazily off the end of the dock, hit the water, skipped and sailed about three feet into the air, hit the water once more and then a foot and a half into the air again, then skimmed along the surface for about four seconds before it lost most of its forward momentum and sank. Everyone made it out, and were immediately rescued by several nearby fishermen.

As the fishermen's aluminum boat pulled toward shore with them inside, Ron sat next to his wife who was hugging a shivering Veronica, who in turn was protectively hugging a nearly unconscious Rufus, and gazed at the bubbles that frothed to the surface at the spot where the ninjet had sunk into the depths.

He heaved a heavy sigh.

"What"? Kim asked, knowing by his very body language that this sigh was for a specific reason.

"I'm gonna miss that car." He said wistfully.

Kim shook her head and leaned up toward him, kissing him lightly on the cheek, "I would rather be missing a car, than have to be missing you or Ronnie-Anne."

He smiled at her, wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter, and kissed Veronica on the forehead. He then closed his eyes and leaned his head on Kim's shoulder.

Then he opened one eye, gazed out over the water, and uttered one more tiny, imperceptible yet wistful sigh.

He really was gonna miss that car.

••

Indy was sitting on the top of the plane, between the two engines which had long since stopped running. He was leaning against a crate. Sitting on that crate with her arms hung loosely about his neck was a smiling Zim Possible. They were both just sort of dreamily gazing at the slowly passing shoreline, not saying anything. Not needing to.

They had made a good bit of progress down the river once the modifications were completed. It was exhilarating, speeding across the water in an aircraft that had now been modified into an air boat. The rudder functioned well enough, and though it was fairly sluggish, Zim managed to keep the craft centered in the river. They had made incredible time, right up until the moment they ran out of gas.

Initially, Zim was furious at herself for misjudging the amount of fuel they had left.

"Quit beating yourself up, Lieutenant," Indy admonished, "It's an amazing feat of engineering just getting us this far back down the river."

She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You did good," he said with a lopsided grin and kissed her on the forehead.

She smiled, "Could you please stop calling me lieutenant? I think we're a little past that now. How about Marion?"

For a brief instant, a pained look flashed across Indy's face, then he shook his head, "How about Zim?"

"Well," She said reluctantly, "If you must."

They decided to let the current take them as far as they could get, and then walk the rest of the way. But since there was no engine, and thus no way to steer, there was no need to sit behind the controls in the cockpit. So it was that Indiana Jones sat with his legs dangling over the windshield of a Grumman Amphibious aircraft with the arms of an Army Intelligence officer draped about his neck in the middle of a tributary to the Congo River somewhere in Central Africa.

"I don't suppose you get to Guam very much", she said softly leaning down and kissing the back of his neck.

"Not really," He replied, tipping his hat forward to giver her better access, "But you don't intend on staying in Guam forever, do you?"

"No," she murmured into his ear, "I suppose not."

They were silent again. Indy began to wonder just where this relationship could go. She was much younger, of course, but there was something about her. His thoughts drifted back about nine years to Marion Ravenwood and his panicky withdrawal from her life for the second time. They had been a month away from their wedding and Indy had gotten a serious case of cold feet in the face of Impending Groom. It was something he had serious regrets over, and while there would never be another woman like Marion Ravenwood, he definitely had deep feelings for Marion Zimmer Possible. Indy had bailed out on Abner Ravenwood's daughter because he was convinced having a family would seriously infringe on his life as an archeologist. But here was the lieutenant, raising a son alone while still being an active member of Army Intelligence, and this had given him second thoughts. Deep down, he realized he'd always wanted a son, perhaps as an opportunity to do some things right where his own father had failed. And here might be that opportunity with her arms wrapped around him in a gesture of affection he honestly didn't think she was capable of.

She hadn't thought she was capable of it either. It was a much warmer gesture than any of the affection she had ever shown James. But there was a spark, some mixture of chemical here that she just had never felt with her deceased husband. Indy had a genuine warmth that lurked beneath a surface of genuine toughness. It was a rare combination in a man, and his intelligence was very attractive to her; not just his education, but his intuitive nature as well. He seemed to just _know_ things, even if he never really had any prior knowledge of whatever those things were. She began to allow for the possibility that for the first time in her life, she just might actually be in love. It made her a little afraid. Not just because of the overwhelming feelings she could sense looming in the back of her mind, but because of the nature of her mission. Would falling for Dr. Jones compromise what she was truly supposed to be doing? Would her loyalties falter, or even change?

In his head, the suspicions regarding her loyalty tried to push their way forward once again. He couldn't help but allow for the possibility that all this was a carefully planned ruse on her part. She had been the aggressor after all. Was she toying with him here at the near end? Had she sabotaged the fuel? Perhaps dumped some out during the night while he slept to keep them from reaching the temple in time? He wanted to quash these nagging doubts but his experience with Dr. Elsa Schneider just before the war had left him more cautious, less vulnerable. And lack of vulnerability was a major roadblock to a genuinely intimate relationship. He tried to let himself go, tried desperately to put all thoughts of doubt about her away. But he just couldn't. He sat there; a duality of emotional interplay raging inside his head. Did he love her? Could he? Or was he setting himself up for another crash and burn?

He squeezed her hand, she squeezed back and tightened her arms around him just a little more.

The sun had climbed higher as the craft drifted lazily down river. More often than not, the rear end of the plane would be facing downstream, though sometimes it would snag on some piece of stuck driftwood and slowly spin the craft in circles. For the most part, the usual jungle noises emanated from the banks of the river and the trees beyond. But at one particular bend in the river, Zim heard a rumble just a few seconds before Indy and immediately got up, climbing back into the fuselage.

"Automobiles", Indy said aloud to himself; they had found the temple.

A hissing rush of air turned his attention to the interior of the fuselage. He peered over the side in time to see Zim putting an inflatable life raft into the water next to the plane. He swung himself into the plane and landed with a light splash. Somewhere unseen, Zim had pulled a plug of sorts. Water was already filling up the cabin.

"Hopefully it will sink before it rounds the bend," She explained, "And I'm hoping they won't have sentries posted on the river. In any case we shouldn't be on this thing when it does drift past the temple."

Indy nodded and helped her throw a few supplies, including weapons, into the boat.

"Believe it or not," He said to her as they worked, "The sound of motors is a good sign. It means they either haven't brought the head piece here yet, or they haven't gotten the talisman to work."

"Then you do believe it has power?" She asked, genuinely curious.

"My intellect tells me no," Indy said hurriedly, "But for those men to journey on foot thousands of miles in three different directions all those years ago just to keep the thing out of anyone's hands; somebody believed it had power."

Zim said nothing and climbed into the life raft. The plane was taking on more water now, and as they paddled away from it, the aircraft snagged on something and halted its downstream progress. Unfortunately for them, it sank only up to the top of the windshield. What was left of the wing, as well as the engines, stayed above the surface of the river. But at least it did not drift any further downstream.

Twenty long minutes later, they pulled the life raft ashore and Zim deflated it. Rather than carrying all the supplies with them, they each took a weapon and headed toward the sound of the running motors. Somewhere between the time they left the river and the time they crept up to the edge of the airfield, the motors had shut off. All was quiet, which should not have been the case this deep in the jungle. There weren't any animal or bird noises, just the occasional breeze would rustle through the tops of the jungle canopy. The temple loomed just beyond the brush that lined the air strip. A monkey with a gigantic head sitting upright; the entry to the temple between his forepaws. Indy figured it must have taken decades to construct. Within the entry, they could see the backs of soldiers dressed in gray who were crowded together, trying to get a look inward.

"No sentries?" Zim whispered as they peered up and down the crude runway.

"They must have brought the head piece in last night," Indy replied, "And are probably just now beginning the ceremony to complete the talisman. I'm sure they assume they're alone out here"

"Why did they wait until today?"

Indy shrugged at first, then looked into the sky, "When I found the location of the Ark, I had to wait until the sun was in a specific position in the sky. Something similar could be at work here."

"And there's a ceremony involved?"

"With these guys, there always seems to be." Indy shrugged again and moved across the runway to the cover of the brush beyond. They made their way stealthily to a position at the edge of a clearing directly across from the temple entry. From within came a voice, and every now and then the soldiers would cheer. It was clear they would not be able to get in through the front door.

Zim raised the Browning and prepared to spray the temple entrance with bullets. Indy put his hand gently on the gun before it was fully raised and nodded upward. It seemed the mouth of the monkey, as well as the ears, were open to the interior, perhaps to allow light to get inside. They crept back into the brush and made their way around to the rear of the stone structure. With some effort, they managed to scramble up on to the foundation stone. Then Indy waited until the cheering erupted inside again. When it did, he flicked his whip upward and snagged it on an outcropping just below the neckline. He climbed several yards, then stood still for a moment, waiting for the cheers once more. When they came, Indy ran a few steps along the wall toward the front of the temple. When he got as far as he could, he turned and ran in the other direction, holding on to the whip. He ran in a wide semi-circle until he reached a foothold and, letting go of the whip, launched himself from it toward the right ear. He just barely managed to catch the edge with his arms and held on for dear life. Grimacing, he struggled to climb into the ear itself, then turned back to watch Zim do the exact same thing only in half as much time with twice the grace. She landed lightly near him and grinned.

He shook his head and returned her grin, then they both crept into the ear and reached a ledge that looked out over the interior of the temple.

The walls were decorated with carved monkeys and Chinese writing. Zim silently pointed to several lines of calligraphy which translated to something about waiting until the sun was at its highest position in the sky. Indy nodded and pointed upward to a perfectly round hole in the top of the temple's head. Beneath them, there was nothing on the floor of the temple save for a large two story pedestal wit a stairway leading up one side. At the top was a smaller pedestal upon which rested the body of the monkey idol. At the bottom of the stairs was a heavy-set man addressing the soldiers. His back was to them until the end of his speech. Then, amid wild cheers, he turned and began climbing the staircase.

Indy almost fell off the ledge in shock.

The man who was climbing the stairs, the man who had been one step ahead of them the whole time, the man who was apparently the leader of a rogue band of neo-nazis…

…was Colonel Eaton.

The same man Indy had known as "Major Eaton" a decade before when he had shown up at Marshall College with a story about the Nazis discovering Tanis. Marcus had said they were with Army Intelligence, but then just about anyone could walk into the museum and tell Marcus he was the Pope and Brody would half believe him.

But this wasn't possible. Indy had met with Eaton in Washington after recovering the Ark.

A darker thought crept into his mind. If Eaton truly was the leader of this Nazi faction, then just exactly who was Zim taking her orders fro-

Indy's thoughts were interrupted by a loud rumble when Eaton slammed the head of the monkey idol down upon the body piece. The circle of light pouring through the hole in the ceiling had practically traveled up the stairs with the Nazi commander and was now bathing the top of the pedestal in a bright yellow blaze. The eyes of the monkey statue burst forth in a bright crimson which was immediately followed by a visible crimson shockwave that exploded outward in all directions. Everyone on the floor of the temple was knocked backward off their feet except for Eaton himself. Indy just managed to keep his footing and peered intently at the top of the pedestal, fascinated by what was happening. The air behind Eaton seemed to crack, as stone cracks when it undergoes too much stress. The cracks immediately swirled into a vortex. Eaton turned and stepped into it.

Nothing happened for several seconds.

Then two figures stepped out from the still swirling vortex. One of them was Eaton. The other was also instantly recognizable. He had a short mustache, was dressed in a Nazi military uniform, and his eyes were a cold, hard brown.

"Heil Hitler," Eaton said, his voice filled with emotion as he dropped to one knee.

"HEIL HITLER!" the temple rang out with shouts as ecstatic Nazi soldiers each held up one stiff arm in a salute.

Indy turned to look at Zim with an expression of disbelief.

But she was gone.

Suddenly, Indiana Jones had never felt so alone in his life..


	9. Yesterdays

Author's note: This was LONG overdue, and I apologize for the wait. Just want to dedicate this chapter and this story to someone I was acquainted with when I started writing, and is now my wife. I love you, Brittany.

And now, at long last…

* * *

Chapter 9

_Yesterdays_

••

"…and we trust you found the settlement satisfactory?"

"The money's fine. The situation is totally unacceptable-"

"Well gentlemen, I guess that just about wraps it up."

"Where is the Ark?"

"I thought we'd settled that. The Ark is somewhere very safe."

"From whom? The Ark is a source of unspeakable power, and it has to be researched!"

"And I assure you it will be, Dr. Brody, Dr. Jones. We have top men working on it right now."

"Who?"

"Top. Men."

* * *

She had betrayed him. No, to be more precise, she had been leading him around by the nose this whole time. Her purpose? Use him to find the Tempus Simia, and once the Nazis had it, bring Jones to a position where he could be neutralized. Indy's capture was probably her gift to Eaton and the Fuhrer.

Jones moved tentatively back and forth. He tried to make all the pieces fit together, like a shattered vase from an ancient dynasty that turns out to be a fake. How did Eaton manage to pull it off? His mind was blank for a few seconds, while shouts of "Seig heil!" rang out below him.

Then it occurred to him; the clues were in the missing pieces. Pieces that were never actually there in the first place.

When Marcus showed up in his classroom that day, Indy simply took him at his word the two gentlemen really were from Army Intelligence. They certainly appeared official enough, and one of them even produced a German communiqué, which-

"_Or he simply recited a memorized line from a blank piece of paper."_ The thought hit Indy like a punch to the gut.

The Nazis had sent him after the Ark, just as they had sent him after the Tempus Simia.

When Belloq seemed to be proving useless, they sent in a couple of spies to pose as army agents. Then they followed him and when he made contact with Marion, tried to take the headpiece of the Staff of Ra for themselves. Failing that, they dogged his trail until he produced the Ark for them. And even when they were unable to keep it out of his hands…

"_Top. Men."_

…same two agents in a sparsely decorated office building in Washington D.C. and no questions or verification of credentials. Eaton simply took possession of the Ark, paid Indy a fistful of money, and sent him packing.

But if that was the case, did this mean the Ark was in Germany?

And what did Zim know about it?

Once again, Indy was overcome with feelings of isolation. His head swiveled back and forth. The odds against him in the temple were more than a hundred to one, but if he turned and retreated, Hitler would be loosed upon the earth once more, and with a very powerful weapon at his disposal.

Jump in and fight it out with some hundred odd men (including Eaton, Hitler, and Zim) in the hopes of defeating Eaton's plans? Or turn and run, in an attempt to get help?

Indy weighed his options, then made up his mind.

In that instant, a sputtering rumble came from the edge of the jungle near the airstrip.

* * *

He stared at his hands as though they were unfamiliar. They _were_ unfamiliar. At least, they were hands he had not seen in more than a few decades. What gripped the landing strut of the hoverjet were two strong, youthful fists attached to arms that had not known this kind of strength in years. Maybe ever.

The noise of the engine was a combination of whine and rumble, and it was extremely cold in the cramped spaces where the landing strut was housed. Indy could barely see, but what he could see filled him with a mixture of emotions, not the least of which was a sense of something impending. Whatever had happened to him back at the logging camp had stayed with him, and he couldn't help but sense his final moments were not too far away. In fact, he didn't just sense it, he _knew_ it.

In an odd way, it comforted him. Having lived far beyond what he considered his usefulness, the prospect of finality where his life was concerned sat perfectly well in his mind.

It was perhaps fitting that he should perish (for he was completely convinced of this now, almost as though he were determined it would happen) within the proximity of what he considered his greatest accomplishment; the discovery of the Ark of the Covenant. In a time when he considered himself a scientist, Indiana Jones believed the best approach to life was as an agnostic. But in his days since then, he had born witness to many events that were clearly beyond the realm of coincidence or mere trickery of the senses.

Destiny and fate were often two distinct facets of existence as Indy saw it. Once was a time when he thought nothing was ever destined to happen. Whatever occurred in our lives, it was only because of what we had done and the choices we made for ourselves. Then there came a time when he tried to believe that everything happened for a reason; a purpose, in order to make sense of a world of barely controlled madness. But that didn't quite pan out either. He believed at one time that Zim was to be "the one" he was slated to spend his life with, but neither fate nor destiny had born that out. It was simply a choice she had made. It was what ultimately convinced him there was no such thing as a "soulmate"; there were only those we wanted to be with, and if we were lucky, then they wanted to be with us as well.

His thoughts turned to Marion Ravenwood and he was filled with regret. They hadn't been married for ten years before she ran afoul of one of Indy's enemies and was murdered just because she was his wife. Unable to get over her death, a bitter son turned his back and left Indiana with his father in a rest home in Florida. Indy hadn't seen Mutt in years.

He was jarred from his memories by the sudden shifting of the craft as it banked at a steep angle and began a descent. Indy wasn't sure where exactly they were going but he had a pretty good idea based on their interrogation sessions. They were heading for Middleton, last known resting place of the Ark of the Covenant. It was under the charge of a small group of Hassidic Jews called The Metaken, who were practitioners of the ancient fighting style of Abir; martial art of the Biblical Israeli Warriors.

Even in his newly transformed youth, Indy wasn't sure about the odds. This Dementor fellow would no doubt have a private army at his command, while Indiana Jones was just one man. Again he was overcome with a feeling of being alone. But he smiled at this, recalling another time he had felt abandoned…

* * *

The sputter smoothed out and the rumble gained a steadiness that indicated an engine had just been brought to life. Specifically, it was the engine of a BF 109, one of the German fighter planes sitting on the airstrip that had been carved into the jungle. Indy scooted toward the outer part of the wall and craned his neck. Though he couldn't see through the thick foliage, there was a gap between the temple and the runway. He saw movement through the trees as the engine roared up several octaves. Then, for an instant, the plane was perfectly framed in the gap as it rolled down the runway. There was no mistaking who the pilot was. She turned her head and glanced in his direction, though he couldn't be sure if she was looking at him. The aircraft continued down the runway, gaining speed, and rolled out of sight.

What now? Was she running away?

That didn't sit right with him. Yes, he had only known her a short time, but it just didn't seem like her. She was dedicated. In fact, it occurred to Indy that she might be so dedicated that she was willing to leave him there in order to make a quick escape and find help; even notify her superiors.

Then, shouting accompanied by a multitude of footfalls.

Indy scooted back through the opening to the inner part of the wall and watched with bemusement as the inner room of the temple virtually cleared. Eaton was shouting while simultaneously reassuring his Fuehrer that everything was under control. The rest of the men were scrambling to get out through the narrow entryway. Roughly twenty men were left in the room.

She had drawn most of them outside; a diversion. What remained was not the greatest of odds, but certainly better than before.

Indy pulled his pistol and checked his ammunition.

One bullet.

With no replacement ammo to reload.

He holstered the gun, uncoiled his whip, and went to work.

His arm shot out, hurling the whip toward the ceiling where the end of it coiled rapidly around the protruding carved foot of a stone monkey near the center of the roof. The crack of the whip caused faces to turn upward. No time to check if the whip was secure, Indy swung himself out, allowing the whip to slide – somewhat painfully, as the leather burned his palms – through his hands in order to half swing, half lower himself to the platform where Eaton was standing with his new intended master.

Indiana Jones landed between the two men, facing toward Adolph. Behind the German dictator, through the red swirling vortex, Indy could make out the rippling image of a tiny room made entirely out of concrete; a bunker. In the center of that room was a small couch where the body of a woman was slumped over, and two dead dogs were lying on the floor. A look of vague recognition came over the Fuehrer's face.

With one move, Indy threw a vicious right backhanded fist at Eaton, catching him across the jaw and sending him sprawling over the smaller pedestal, knocking the monkey idol off its perch. It tumbled down the stairs, the head piece coming loose from the body. Eaton tumbled involuntarily down after it.

Meanwhile, Indy's right fist swooped downward and came up with his pistol. The barrel centered on Adolph Hitler's forehead and blazed forth with fire as a look of sheer terror bloomed on the German's face. The onetime Nazi Dictator reeled back several steps, fell, and slumped dead on the couch in the bunker. The vortex closed, and he disappeared.

Rapid-fire shots rang out as bullets struck the ground near him, and the wall behind him. One even nicked Indy's shirt sleeve. He hit the ground, grabbed the whip, and flicked it several times to dislodge it from its hold on the stone monkey foot above. It came loose on the second try. Amid the hail of bullets, he wrapped the whip around the base of the smaller pedestal and lowered himself down the backside of the larger one, away from the stairs, where there was no exit, but no German soldiers either. He flicked the whip again, but this time it would not dislodge. Indy took two tentative steps toward his right, and saw the shadows of rapidly approaching German soldiers. Reeling around, he took another couple of steps in the other direction and was met with the same image, shadows on the wall of approaching German soldiers.

For a fraction of a second, Indy stood there, grimacing, unsure of what to do. Then it occurred to him what Zim might do in this situation, and he borrowed a page from her book. Grabbing the whip, he climbed several feet and then wrapped the end of the whip around his left arm. Hanging like that, Indy put his feet on the base of the large two story pedestal and straightened his legs, pushing himself outward but not away from the pedestal base. Then he moved toward his right, slowly at first as his steps were tentative, but faster and more sure of his footing as he went along. He was almost at a full run, his body parallel with the floor, when the first soldier rounded the base of the pedestal and ran face first into Indy right fist. The soldier's head snapped back, but his feet kept running. He tumbled, and the men behind him tripped and went sprawling over him as Indy was naturally lifted above their reach due to the whip's decreasing length. Stopping at the point where his momentum expired, Indy turned and ran in the other direction, this time holding the whip with both hands.

The soldiers coming from the left hand side of the pedestal base had stopped just short of tripping over their fallen comrades. They looked up in time to see Indy running along the wall toward them. The archeologist brought up both his feet at the last second and slammed them into the chests of the two Germans in front. They were knocked back into their fellow soldiers until only those in the back remained standing. They brought up their weapons as Indy let go of the whip, landed square in front of them, and delivered first a right cross against one face, and then a left against the other.

The soldiers had forgotten to take their safeties off.

Indy grabbed their MP40 submachine guns and turned back to the other soldiers who were regaining their feet. He sprayed them, fire blazing from both barrels. They retreated back around the base of the pedestal, though more than half of them never got up again. Jones went after the survivors.

••

Zim barely managed to get into the air. She knew she had pulled up too soon, but was unwilling to risk staying on the ground for longer than was necessary, knowing they would be very close behind her. She could feel the plane struggling to stay aloft, and immediately second guessed herself on the decision to pull up. Now she would need some distance to build up airspeed, and if she'd stayed on the runway longer, she would have been able to turn back sooner and prevent anyone else from getting off the ground. Zim allowed the aircraft to descend ever so slightly toward the tree tops, building up the much-needed airspeed. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to see if any other planes had become airborne.

Suddenly the tree line broke and she was over water.

_The river!_

She had forgotten it was there. She banked the plane to the right, headed up river, and nosed forward, descending toward the surface of the water. It was exactly what the aircraft needed. The struggling, almost sputtering motor began to smooth out. As a result, the aircraft vibrated a bit less, and felt more like a beast made for the air than the ground. Zim brought it as close to the water's surface as she dared, using up every bit of descent she could to gain speed. In a few seconds, she was going too fast to stay with the river and pulled up. Now skimming the tops of the trees, Zim scanned the horizon for other aircraft.

She saw five.

None, however, were in pursuit of her.

Fearing she would ambush them as they took off, they were in tight formation and circling the airport so that if she did attack, they could overwhelm her rather than try to take her on individually.

Zim climbed as steeply as she dared, in order to get above them as well as get a better handle on the terrain. She surveyed the river, the airport, the temple and the opposing fighters and quickly devised a battle plan. It would have to be unorthodox, since the odds were five-to-one against. Now six-to-one, she grimly noted, as another plane made it off the ground. The first priority would be to shut down the airstrip to make sure the odds against her wouldn't get any worse. Her plane was equipped with two bombs, one on each wing. She would have to make both of those shots count for all they were worth which posed a problem. Even though she could see the air strip, she couldn't be positive where the best location would be to place her shots with which she could do the most damage. Zim decided one bomb would be dropped on the middle of the runway, in order to make a crater that would prevent additional aircraft from taking off. The other would ideally be dropped where residual damage could be inflicted; an ammo dump or fuel supply depot. She just wasn't sure where those might be.

A seventh plane made it into the air.

Then, as if on cue, a black plume of smoke intermixed with orange erupted from the end of the runway near the temple. It was as though Indy had sent up a beacon.

••

She would need some kind of beacon, Indy thought to himself as he sprinted out through the entrance of the temple. He skidded to a halt and ducked back inside when automatic gunfire kicked up small explosions of earth all around him. He stood panting, and looked around frantically. He couldn't stay in here.

"Jones!" came a growl of fury from behind him.

Indy spun around to see Eaton with his pistol drawn; a fresh black eye was forming on the left side of his face.

"Tell me something, _Colonel,_" Indy spit the word out with contempt, "How many of my countrymen died because of you? A hundred? A thousand? How many missions did you authorize that sent good men needlessly to their deaths?"

"I'm not interested in justifying myself to a fool like you, Dr. Jones", Eaton snarled, "What do you think you have done here? Nothing! You have stopped nothing. I will kill you, and use the Tempus Simia to go back before any of this happens and prevent you from doing what you've just done."

"You sure about that?" Jones asked with a smirk, "Think about it. If you're going to do that, then how would we be having this conversation?

For a split second, Eaton looked bewildered, as though he was puzzling out the answer to Indy's question. His concentration was jarred by the wrenching feeling of his own gun being yanked out of his hand, then a fist plowing into his face with frightening force. He fell flat on his back.

Indy cocked the weapon and stood directly above Eaton, training the pistol squarely on Eaton's forehead.

"You're just an archeologist," Eaton chuckled contemptuously, "You wouldn't da-"

He was dead before he finished his sentence.

Jones quickly gathered up the Tempus Simia and put it into the bag he kept at his side.

"Erscheinenden unbewaffnet!" came a voice from outside, ordering him to come out unarmed.

Indy did just that.

Raising his hands and holding the bag with the talisman aloft, Indiana Jones walked slowly out through the entrance of the temple.

"Ich gebe," Indy said softly, _I surrender._

He heard the sound of small arms being cocked and barely managed to conceal his smile.

How many times had he done this, he wondered to himself, a dozen? Two dozen? How it worked depended almost entirely on who it was he surrendered himself to. If this were the Orient, or if they were Africans; Indy would never have dreamed of doing what he was about to do, because he would have been executed where he stood. Eastern cultures had no sense of chivalry. These men might have been Nazis, but they were still soldiers; they still adhered to some sense of code.

When an enemy surrendered, and your comrades all had their weapons trained on him, why then you were perfectly free to let your guard down.

The soldier closest to Indy allowed himself a self-confident grin as he stepped toward his intended captor and grabbed the bag with a firm grip. Indy gave the bag a hard yank, pulling the Nazi to him, and slammed his fist into his enemy's face, then spun him around to face his fellow countrymen. Without sliding the gun from the other man's shoulder, Jones grabbed it and pulled the trigger, spraying back and forth while crouching slightly behind the dazed Nazi, using him as a shield.

Shocked, and unwilling to injure their friend, the force of fifteen or so men that had just captured Indiana Jones scattered, some of them tripping over themselves to get away.

Indy fired, emptying the weapon, then reached into the man's belt and pulled his pistol, deftly flipping it until he was holding it by the barrel. Jones brought the butt of the pistol down hard on the back of the soldier's skull and he crumpled up like a rag doll. Flipping the gun again, he raised it and drew a bead on the nearest opponent and pulled his trigger. That man also dropped to the ground in a heap. Indy sprinted to him and snatched up his MP40, two spare clips and a couple of grenades. Small explosions of dirt erupted around him once more. Indy turned and sprinted for a vehicle parked roughly fifteen feet away. He dove over the hood amid a hail of gunfire and hit the ground hard. Scrambling to his knees, he took up a defensive position and returned fire, casting glances this way and that, looking for something he could ignite; something that would create a lot of smoke and act as a guide for Zim's inevitable strafing runs. Movement caught his peripheral vision and Indy turned to gun down a soldier who was sprinting across the clearing. But something was odd about the man's trajectory. He hadn't been running at Indy, he was running toward his fallen comrade near the entrance to the temple. The man still lay unconscious on the ground. Then, to Indy's horror, he realized the fallen man was still clutching Indy's bag, with the Tempus Simia still inside. Indy hadn't even noticed when the bag was torn from his grasp. He made a move to retrieve the bag but was pinned down by withering gunfire. When Indy felt it was safe to raise his head again, he looked just in time to see a Nazi snatch up the bag and sprint off into the jungle with it.

Jones took a quick assessment of the situation. The Temple was to his right, the airstrip to his left, where he noted three more planes were idling and getting ready to take off. With a few planes already in the air, Indy realized Zim would have her hands full. Then it occurred to him she would still need to know precisely where the airstrip was in order to prevent further enemies from getting aloft. All the while, the Nazis were getting away with his bag containing the Tempus Simia. A second glance toward the retreating soldiers told him the Nazi with the bag, now joined by two of his comrades, wasn't simply running into the jungle, he was following a crude trail, but where it led, Indy had no idea. Not to the river, that was behind him. Indy watched as several more Germans suddenly bolted from their positions and followed the Nazi in possession of the bag. They were retreating. It occurred to Jones that they were now leaderless, and possibly operating under the assumption they had been attacked by a force greater than two people; which meant their default command was likely to secure the talisman, and bring it someplace where it could be kept safe.

More joined the withdrawing soldiers, while a few stayed behind to cover their retreat. Indy took out the three grenades he had scavenged from the dead Nazi and pulled all three pins, tossing the small bombs in rapid succession; two toward enemy positions and the third toward some stacked barrels near the runway. He hoped they weren't full of water.

They weren't.

A massive orange fireball accompanied by a huge boom caused several soldiers to jump back, startled at the exact moment the grenade that had been tossed at them went off. They all simply sprinted away from the third grenade, leaving Indy – who was lying face down on the ground and covering his head – alone for the moment. He snatched up the MP40 and took off at a run after the retreating Nazis, hesitating only for an instant as a secondary explosion consumed one of the planes attempting to take off.

••

Zim zeroed in on the column of black smoke billowing up from the runway. Pushing the throttle all the way forward, she nosed the aircraft downward until she was skimming across the tops of the trees, hurtling along at better than 150 mph. As soon as the trees cleared she released both bombs and pulled back hard on the stick, shooting almost straight up in the air. Zim craned her neck around to see where her bombs landed, but there was no explosion. Then she had a horrifying realization. They hadn't been bombs at all. The planes had to have been outfitted for long range transport in order to get them to this location in Africa, which meant they needed extra fuel tanks. Surplus fuel tanks were shaped like bombs and attached to the wings in order to extend a plane's effective range. Now those tanks were tumbling across the runway, and the only fuel Zim had left was in the wings.

Zim pulled back on the stick and looped over, diving back toward the ground, then suddenly pulled hard to the right, away from the runway, as a massive explosion plumed up toward her, threatening to consume her aircraft.

Fuel tanks though they were, they still did some effective damage. The first tank to hit the ground burst open immediately, but the second remained intact as it tumbled over and over until it collided with one of the remaining Nazis planes attempting to take off. It tore through the fuselage and ripped open, scattering aviation fuel in all directions like a massive sprinkler. The plane exploded from a spark caused by the hurtling tank, and in less than twenty seconds, the entirety of the runway area was a raging inferno. The third Nazi plane attempting to take off did manage to get into the air, but it was on fire, and exploded over the river.

Zim leveled out and attempted to get her bearings. She didn't have the opportunity as she was set upon by three Nazi aircraft. Bullets ripped through the air all around her. Zim Possible suddenly found herself in the dogfight of her life.

••

Indy sprinted down the trail. Behind him, the jungle was an orange wall of blazing heat, with flames shooting close to a hundred feet into the air. He was tempted to move off the trail in order to stay hidden from enemy troops, but already flames had crossed over to his right, spurred on by the fuel that had scattered in almost every direction. If he left the trial he ran two risks; the first was losing his way in the jungle, even if it weren't on fire. The second was getting consumed by the fire itself.

Rounding a corner, he pulled up short for an instant as he emerged in a vast clearing covered with military tents. Eaton had planned to make this his base of operations, using the temple to move through time, gathering weapons and soldiers as he wished, until he was ready to march out of the jungle with his Fuehrer at his side, laying waste to the world beyond. He looked around frantically, hoping no one would spot him. It didn't take long to ascertain that no one was really interested in him anymore. What soldiers remained were piling into two military trucks and a Kuebelwagen; Germany's version of the Jeep. They were moving in earnest, not even bothering to check who might be in pursuit, undoubtedly feeling the heat of the wall of flame bearing down on them.

Indy scrambled into the nearest tent, snatched up two MP40s, several grenades and a pistol, then sprinted back outside when he heard the vehicle engines roar to life. He ran back outside in time to see the vehicles move out on a very rough road that headed into the jungle from the far side of the camp. Already, tents all around him were beginning to burn as flaming cinders rained down. Jones began to look around for a suitable pursuit vehicle, but as he ran past rows and rows of tents, all he saw was the heavy equipment used to build the runway and the encampment.

Then, he heard a familiar but oddly-out-of-place sound behind him; a snort. Indy spun around to discover a very large tent, open at both ends. Something inside the tent was tied to a stake in the ground.

It was a horse.

He was a jet-black thoroughbred Arabian Stallion, tall and without a single blemish or white spot to be seen. The animal was saddled and ready to ride. For an abstract second, Indy wondered at this, but then decided it had been intended for Adolph as a sort of victory lap around the camp in order to be worshipped by his new army. This, Indy surmised, was why Eaton had gone to the bunker for his Fuehrer. At the point of suicide, Hitler would have been willing to go anywhere with anyone. Bring him through the vortex, set him on a horse while Nazis cheered, and Adolph probably would have been easily sold on Eaton's plan.

By the time Indy finished these thoughts, he had untied the horse, stowed his weapons in the saddlebags and was sitting in the saddle. The black stallion was almost too eager to have a rider guiding him. A rider meant escape from the fire, and he was ready and willing to make a hasty exit.

"H'YAH!"

Indy pulled his hat down low over his eyes and gave the horse a firm but gentle kick in the sides. The animal did not need a second invitation, it bolted from the tent, wheeled to the right, away from the fire, and galloped down the narrow lane between rows of canvas structures.

Half the camp was engulfed in an immense conflagration; small pockets of ammo or barrels of fuel were exploding all over the compound. Indy raced ahead of the wall of fire, emerging from the rows of tents – most of which were burning – turning slightly to the right, and heading down the road at a thundering gallop. When he had gotten a couple hundred feet down the road, a fuel truck near the edge of camp exploded with a massive boom that sent a powerful shockwave out in all directions. The horse, more determined than fearful, never lost his footing.

The soldiers in the back of the second truck turned their heads to look in the direction of the explosion and were met with a sight that turned Nazi blood to ice-water.

Bearing down upon them was a lone warrior on a stallion that could have been the personal steed of the Grim Reaper himself. Indeed, this leather-clad gladiator, with a massive fireball pluming up into the sky behind him and an inferno stretched out on either side, looked as though he were riding out of hell itself; galloping forth from damnation's gates in order to facilitate their descent into the fiery abyss. To these increasingly terrified former members of the Third Reich, Indiana Jones wasn't merely riding out of hell, he was bringing it with him.

••

Zim jinked and weaved almost uncontrollably in order to keep her three pursuers off her tail. They were highly trained pilots who did not all pile on her at once. One of them gave orders for only three to pursue, this way they would be less likely to get tangled up with each other. In fact, they kept a tight formation behind her, not allowing her any kind of leeway in either direction, while the rest remained at higher altitude in order to prevent her from climbing. All around her was wide open sky; with no mountains in sight, and worse, no clouds in which to hide. Her best bet was to stay as close to the runway as possible, using the billowing smoke as cover from the higher altitude aircraft while she dealt with her pursuers.

Again, she was headed for the river, this time doing close to 300 mph. The second she cleared the tree line, she nosed forward slightly, diving for the water, then pulled back on the stick as hard as she could. The plane nosed up and over on its back in a perfect, tight loop. The G force on Zim was almost unbearable, gray voids began to creep into her peripheral. She gritted her teeth and deliberately hyperventilated to try and keep herself from blacking out. As soon as she was slightly past the apogee of her loop, diving slightly toward the jungle, she barrel rolled the plane until it was right side up and pulled level when she reached the tree tops, banking slightly toward her left in order to head toward the temple.

Her three pursuers did not fare as well. When she came straight up over the tree line, the third pursuer behind her simply nosed slightly upward and began firing. His reflexes proved slow, however, and instead of catching her, his bullets sliced right through the plane directly behind her – which had stayed on her tail - and it exploded immediately. Unable to turn away in time, he slammed into the exploding aircraft and disintegrated on impact. Pursuer number two managed to avoid all this, but in his zeal to stay on Zim's tail, he pulled into the loop too tightly and simply passed out due to the intense G forces exerted on him. His plane sailed straight up into the air, stalled out, and crashed into the river.

Zim reached the runway and weaved through the billowing columns of smoke that were belching into the sky. The remaining four opponents stayed where they were, chattering to each other over the radio about their next move. One of them pointed out Zim no longer had her reserve fuel tanks while they had theirs and proposed waiting until she ran out of gas.

"Gentlemen," Zim said over the radio in German, "I can understand every word you say. So I will know whatever plans you make. Why waste time fighting me when you can simply withdraw and go where you wish? Clearly you must know that your leader is dead by now. What is the use of continuing this?"

"We will figure out what to do with ourselves only after you are dead," said one of the pilots in a low, cold voice.

"Then come and get me," Zim challenged.

"We would prefer that you come to us." The pilot answered.

They weren't stupid, they knew they had the advantage with the altitude. They wouldn't come down to fight her near the tree tops. If Zim made a run for it in any direction, they would swoop in and destroy her in short order, and they certainly wouldn't fall for the loop maneuver after watching their friends perish.

There was a moment of silence while Zim frantically tried to figure a way out of her predicament.

"What will it be American woman?" the German challenged her in broken English, "Will you fight or will we watch you die?"

"I believe we will fight," came a familiar, thickly accented Russian voice.

It was Stukhov. Zim looked wildly about until she spotted a Russian Mig-3 fighter plane streaking in low over the treetops. It shot skyward and zeroed in on one of the Germans, fire blazing from its wings. The Nazi planes broke formation and scattered, the Russian Mig dropped in behind one of them and continued firing.

Zim throttled all the way up and pulled her plane into the air.

••

Thanks to the terrain and the roughness of the road, the horse actually gave Jones the advantage of speed. Any more than thirty miles per hour and the vehicles would bounce right off the road.

The soldiers in the back of the rear truck were scrambling to find weapons. Indy decided not to wait and see if they came up with any. He dug his heels in and the powerful beast surged forward, the gallop smoothing out as the horse's feet seemed to barely touch the ground. It's footing was as sure as a mountain goat, largely because it chose to put its head down and concentrate on where his hooves were going to fall, while leaving all other matters up to his rider. Jones reached into one of the saddle bags, pulled out a grenade, pulled the pin with his teeth, and tossed it – underhanded – deftly into the back of the truck. Then he jerked back on the reins bringing the horse to a skidding halt, wheeled the animal to the right, and spurred it into the dense undergrowth.

Though the Germans probably had time to snatch up the grenade and toss it out, every single man in the truck had that very same idea, and went for the bomb. What resulted was a tangled mass of humans, none of whom was able to get ahold of the explosive. It was only then that a couple of them remembered the two barrels of fuel they were riding with.

The blast obliterated the truck and everyone in it.

Indy discovered that his speed was greatly hampered by the thick undergrowth. He made his way back to the road as soon as he was beyond the wreckage of the truck, but as soon as he got out onto the rough trail, he was met with gunfire. He spurred the horse and again they galloped back into the jungle. Indy tried to stay off the road, in the safety of the woods but soon realized they were pulling away from him. He took out an MP40, brought the horse back out on to the road, and fired in the direction of the remaining truck. This didn't do much to suppress their return fire, and Indy was forced to go back into the jungle again.

Then, a stroke of luck. As he brought the horse back to the edge of the road to see how far they had gotten away from him, Indy noticed the lead vehicle turning to the right very sharply. Indy dug in his heels and the horse bolted across the road, into the jungle on the other side. But instead of turning to follow the Germans, he went straight, weaving his way around trees and the denser bushes as fast as the horse was willing to go, which was barely more than a trot. Foliage lashed at his face like thousands of whips. He did his best to protect his face with his arm, but he had to allow himself to see where he was going, especially since the horse had its head down close to the ground. After several agonizing minutes of this, the horse suddenly sprang out into the clear and was standing smack in the middle of the road, next to the river, directly in the path of the lead vehicle.

The driver was so startled to see this apparition that he slammed on his brakes until both vehicles shuddered to a halt.

For a tense moment, everyone stared at each other with jaws open. Engines idled, the horse stamped his foot, one of the Germans in the back seat of the Kuebelwagen coughed.

"Schießen Sie ihn!", the Nazi in the passenger seat screamed, _Shoot him!_

Indy quickly pulled his Luger and shot the driver, then spurred the horse over the far side of the road, down an embankment, and onto the sandy shoreline of the river. He wheeled to the right, dug in his heels, and galloped up ahead of the vehicles amidst a hail of bullets.

The Nazis were rolling again within twenty seconds; every single one of them was armed and keeping a watchful eye out for him.

Indy kept far enough ahead that the range of their weapons was ineffective. Meanwhile, his mind raced as to how to deal with them, and retrieve his bag. The answer presented itself a half mile further up the road. A tributary stream flowed into the river there, and the road crossed that stream via a very crude bridge; two logs and some cross-planks. Indy dug his heels in and the horse found extra speed, hurtling along the sandy bank of the river at the pace of a derby champion. When they reached the bridge, Indy pulled the stallion to a halt and took the last three grenades out of his bag. He quickly pulled the pins on each of them, and lightly tossed them up onto the surface of the bridge. Then he wheeled the horse around and raced back down the riverbank, toward the oncoming vehicles.

Indy was not in too much danger at this point; a majority of his opponents were in the back of the truck. Only one man, sitting in the back seat of the lead vehicle, was shooting at him, and not very effectively as his ride was bouncing roughly along the crude dirt road. Indy didn't even bother shooting back, but kept racing in the opposite direction the Germans were traveling. When he drew dead even with the vehicles, he could resist a glance up at them, and locked eyes with the driver of the Kuebelwagen. Unspoken words passed between them. Indy's glare told the German that he would keep coming at them as long as he was still breathing and could lift a weapon. The German's look was one of resigned acknowledgment of Indy's unspoken declaration, with nothing left to do, he would continue his side of the conflict until he was dead or defeated. The gaze broke, and Indy shot past them, now under fire from the men in the rear of the truck. To their surprise, Indy wheeled the horse around, climbed up onto the road, spurred the stallion, and came at them full gallop. They raised their weapons. Jones raised an MP40 and sprayed the back of the truck with bullets; one man slumped over and tumbled out onto the road. The others dove for the deck of the truck. When the weapon was empty, Indy tossed it and dug in his heels. The horse surged forward. Jones pulled it just to the right and grabbed ahold of the right rear corner post of the truck, swung his leg over the animal and hauled himself to the rear bumper of the vehicle.

From the German's perspective, the shooting had barely stopped and they were recovering themselves when this Rider from Hell was suddenly standing in their midst.

••

Zim banked slightly toward Stukhov's plane, easing up on her speed a bit. Stukhov continued in pursuit of his original target.

"Your assistance would be appreciated, Ms. Possible." The Russian crackled over the radio.

"I will not leave you alone to die, Stukhov." She replied, "But I am curious. How did you make it alive out of that river in Japan?"

"I am good swimmer," he replied.

Thoughts raced through Zim's mind as she gained altitude to join the fight, thoughts that quickly turned to conclusions. Chances were very slim Stukhov was alone. He had come in search of the temple and probably had cohorts in planes all over the area looking for it. When he spotted the explosions, he likely radioed his comrades and came to investigate. When the battle was over, Stukhov was going to insist that he be given the Tempus Simia for safe keeping, and that was unacceptable. The Soviets could not be allowed to posses the artifact any more then the Nazis, especially now that she had seen its power, and what its capabilities were.

Zim spotted what she had been waiting for, A Nazi plane had moved into attack position behind Stukhov. She banked over to intercept the German and opened up when he came within range, slicing up his fuselage and canopy. The German peeled off, smoke pouring from the engine compartment as well as the cockpit.

Three left.

Stukhov stuck with his target until he finally found good position and pulled his trigger. His ammunition tore through the German plane until there was little left of it. Debris scattered and fell into the jungle.

Two.

"Tell me something Lieutenant", Stukhov's voice was almost nonchalant, "When this little war is over, are you going to shoot me down as well?"

Clearly he had been anticipating her thoughts.

"No," Zim said with conviction, "I will not shoot you down. You have my word."

"And I will not shoot you down," Stukhov said emphatically.

_Of course you won't_, Zim thought with contempt, _you need me alive or you will never find the Tempus Simia. That doesn't mean you won't take me prisoner as soon as we land._

Then something occurred to her.

"I appreciate that, Major." Zim said aloud.

At almost the same instant, both Zim and Stukhov had the remaining Germans on their tails. Zim had been hoping both of them would come after her but she would settle for this. She nosed forward and dove for the ground, then almost immediately pulled back level, and then into a vertical climb, pushing the throttle as far forward as it would go. She reached under her seat and found what she was looking for. The German tailing her was directly behind but did not fire. He was no idiot. He was not about to start raining debris down all over himself, but he was determined not to lose her. She would have to pull level at some point or she would stall out. Zim unlatched the canopy and slid it back as her plane began to slow. Just before the upward momentum quit altogether, Zim drew her pistol, unlatched her seatbelt, and pushed herself outward as hard as she could. She sailed straight out from the plane, throwing her head back as she did so, bringing herself into a lazy somersault. When she had come all the way around, she brought up her pistol and fired.

Her pursuer simply stared at her, mouth wide open in utter shock.

It would have taken a perfect marksman a thousand years worth of attempts in order to shoot the pilot while freefalling through the air. Which is why Zim didn't even bother trying. Instead, she fired every single shot she could into the left wing of the German plane. Fuel began to pour out of the holes she had created. Zim was already several hundred feet below when her plane drifted backward and downward into her pursuer's aircraft. Metal crashing into metal threw sparks everywhere, ignited the fuel, and both planes were obliterated in a massive fireball.

One.

Zim pulled the ripcord of the parachute she had found under the seat. The chute plumed open and her downward momentum abruptly slowed. She waited several tense seconds as burning debris fell through the air all around her. The explosion, however, scattered most of the parts, and very little fell in her direction. Several shards of burning, twisted metal hit her chute, all but one immediately slid off. The remaining chunk of debris slowly began to burn through the silk, but the piece was so small it did not create a hole large enough to affect the chute's performance. Zim hit the tree tops, and snagged her chute on a large branch. She hauled herself up to the branch, took out a utility knife, and began cutting the ropes in order to lower herself out of the tree.

She was on the ground in ten minutes.

In that time, the air battle had ceased, and the remaining plane began circling the area. Zim had no doubt it was Stukhov, searching for her. She wasn't worried, however. Fire was still raging at the airstrip, and it was scattered with debris anyway. Landing anywhere near the temple would prove an impossibility. Zim set foot on the ground about a mile and a half south of the temple, in some very thick jungle foliage. Stukhov had been too occupied with the remaining German for him to notice where her chute had gone down. All she had to do now was stay out of sight.

She began making her way toward the river, hoping and praying that Indy was all right.

••

Indiana Jones went straight to work. Right fist into the face of the German closest to him. Grabbed the gun from the next one and smashed the butt of it across his opponent's jaw. Elbow into the face of a third. Indy was now in the center of the truck bed. A Nazi had gotten behind him. Indy spun around and pulled the trigger.

Nothing but empty clicks.

The German grinned triumphantly at him and raised his fists. Indy gave back a sheepish grin of his own, then threw the gun at the man's chest, knocking him backward and out of the truck. The Nazi who had taken the elbow was attempting to get back up, Indy threw a hard right to the side of his head, rendering him unconscious. When he was sure there were no more viable threats in the back of the truck, Indy slid open the divider that led to the cab and grabbed the driver by the throat, pulling him through the hole with both hands, and finally tossing him out the back of the truck. When he peeked back into the cab, he realized there was no one in the passenger seat.

The lead vehicle began to slow down. They were almost to the bridge, which was now just wreckage; one of the logs having been thrown wide by the force of the grenades. Indy scrambled into the driver's seat, downshifted and stepped on the gas. The truck surged forward, rammed into the back of the Kuebelwagen, and shoved it over the embankment and into the stream where the bridge had been. Not wanting to leave the Germans with an operating vehicle, Indy allowed the truck to follow the smaller vehicle over the embankment, jumping clear just before it thundered down on top of the smaller automobile, killing its occupants.

Indy tumbled and came to rest on the sandy shore of the river. He struggled to his feet and staggered over to the wreckage. The bag containing the Tempus Simia was lying on the ground next to a still-spinning wheel. Two Nazis climbed out of the rear of the truck. Indy looked wildly about for a weapon, but it wasn't necessary. They wanted nothing to do with him, and scrambled up the bank on the far side of the stream, then ran as fast as they could down the road.

Indy retrieved the bag, looked around for the horse – who was taking a much-needed drink from the river about a hundred yards away – mounted, and rode back down the river toward the temple.

••

Zim was hiding in the tree line near the deflated raft when Indy rode up.

"A horse?" her smile was warm and relieved, "Really?"

Indy nodded, "Better than a jeep. Faster in the jungle, gets better mileage, less maintenance."

"Bring him up here," she said, "So you won't be spotted by the planes."

There were now three planes in the air, circling.

"Who are they?" Indy inquired, "Those don't look like German aircraft."

"Soviets," Zim confirmed, "Stukhov helped me finish off the remaining German pilots."

"Stukhov?"

"Apparently he's a good swimmer."

He turned to her and grinned. She walked up to him, slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

"I'm glad you're OK," she said softly.

"If I knew I was coming back to this, I would have gotten here sooner," he responded, "You could have told me you were going to jump in that plane."

"Didn't really think we had time to discuss a battle plan. I assume we're pretty much alone?"

"For now," he said, then told her all that had happened.

"Wherever those two ran off to, it can't be good." She concluded, referring to the two remaining Germans who had run from him at the crash site.

Indy nodded, "No way of knowing what's up that road. Could be more reinforcements. Can't go that way."

"And the Russians are likely south of here, so we can't go down river," Zim said grimly.

"West, then," said Indy, "Shortest distance to the coast. I know the Captain of a freighter in a town out there. Might be able to get us to Southern Europe at least."

Zim nodded and said nothing. As confident as Indy sounded, trekking west straight through the African Jungle wasn't exactly going to be a walk in the park.

"Why not use the Tempus Simia?" Zim suggested, "We can go anywhere at any time.

"True," Indy acknowledged, "But we'd have to wait until noon tomorrow to use it. I don't think we want to be here at noon tomorrow."

Again, Zim nodded and said nothing.

As daylight began to fade, they carefully picked their way through the burned German tents, scavenging for food and supplies. Fires still burned here and at the airstrip, but they had greatly diminished. They would be out by morning, and there was a strong likelihood the place would be crawling with armed Germans, as well as Soviets. They gathered what they could, which was precious little, and were careful to stay out of sight of the Soviet planes. Then, as darkness came on, the aircraft withdrew, the sound of their engines fading to nothing as the first stars began to shine in the sky. They re-inflated the raft, put their supplies into it, then tied the raft to the horse. Zim rode, while Indy held on to the back of the raft as they crossed the wide river; the horse doing his best to swim straight. They trekked about a mile in almost pitch blackness, then made camp for the night.

Two weeks later, they walked out of the jungle and into the Port City of Libreville on the western coast of Africa. As Zim expected, it had not been a walk in the park. Twice they had to go well out of their way to avoid a lake or massive swamp. An encounter with an African Boa had Indy on edge for days afterward. Food supplies had run out and there was precious little in the jungle that was edible, as the horse had discovered on the eighth day. It had gotten sick eating what it thought was a tasty plant, and they had to spend a whole day nursing it back to health. Indy lost several pounds. They were exhausted, the horse was worn out, their clothes were in shambles, and neither of them smelled very appealing.

They sold Lucky (the horse; Indy wanted to call it Copernicus) at the local outdoor market and got themselves a hotel room, a hot shower and a good meal while Indy made inquiries about his friend the freighter captain. As luck would have it, he was due in port the following day, and would be leaving on a return trip to the Eastern Mediterranean the day after.

When the ship pulled in, Indy and Zim were waiting on the dock. The captain recognized the archeologist immediately.

"Dr. Jones," his smile was radiant, his accent a thick African dialect, "I received your message via telegraph yesterday. Again, your appearance is exactly as I imagined it would be. But your women seem to be getting younger and more beautiful."

Zim smiled and shook Captain Katanga's hand, unsure how to take the compliment.

She and Indy shared a small cabin for the next three days.

Katanga dropped them at Gibraltar, after which it was several days by train to Calais, France; across the Channel to Dover, England, and straight to the nearest U.S. Military air base.

They decided to exclude any mention of the powers of the Tempus Simia to Zim's superior officers. The army would consider it a simple relic and allow Indy to keep it with the expectation he would donate it to a museum.

By the time they arrived in Washington D.C for debriefing, Zim was pregnant with James.

* * *

At Middleton Regional Airport, a very elderly man stepped off a plane with no personal bags and no luggage to claim at the terminal. Though he could not move quickly, he certainly moved with a purpose. He made his way through the terminal building and out to the loading area beyond, shuffling his way up the sidewalk to where the taxicabs were parked.

"Where to, Old Timer?" The driver asked as he got in.

"West," he replied, "Need to head west out of town. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going, but I will know when I get there."

He handed the driver a hundred dollar bill.

"You got it, pal."

The cab pulled out and headed for the Middleton city limits.

* * *

"_I didn't realize it, but I was pregnant with James by the time we reached Washington. There were a few days when we both felt we might not make it out of the jungle at all. When we finally did make it out... it was a long trip to England, the cabin on the ship was very small, and there really wasn't much else to do. We were in love. After the debriefing in Washington, I wanted to get to Guam to see Slim, but there were a couple of things to do first…"_

Kim put her grandmother's diary down and looked over at her husband who sat brooding.

"Ron," She said quietly.

"I still think we need to move it." Ron grumped, his frustration was evident in his voice, "Dementor still has the IDOL, and where the Ark is now isn't exactly a secure location."

"I know, Ron, but Wil Du's directive was clear. The Ark stays where it is." Kim said soothingly. She could feel his frustration, and even sympathized with it.

"But why! That's all I want to know. What is the reasoning behind this?"

"Because he has a lair." Wade's voice drifted up the stairs leading to the cave below the house. He appeared on the landing with a small backpack in his hind which he immediately handed to Ron.

"Thanks, Wade," Ron said, "What does a lair have to do with it?"

"Lairs are usually in geographically isolated locations. We can't do another battle in Middleton." Wade said matter-of-factly, "Not like the one we had with Ray and his clones. Government had a rough time covering up the story. The head of the NSA has made it clear that was a one-off. Any more of these skirmishes in populated areas and Global Justice will be shut down."

Ron pursed his lips but said nothing, "So we just wait, then?"

"No," Wade said casually, "Dementor raided the Middleton synagogue less than a half hour ago. He's taken the Ark."

Stoppable bolted to his feet, "And we're not going after him because…?"

"Because he still has the IDOL," Wade, said quietly, "Rabbi Katz allowed us to place a tracking device on the crate that houses the Ark. If we tailed him now, Dementor would use the IDOL to eliminate the tracking signal."

"But what if he uses it anyway, just to be cautions?" Kim asked.

Ron came to a realization, "Because eventually he wants us to come after him."

Wade nodded, "We didn't put up a fight when he came into town because we want him well away from Middleton before the fireworks start. But he does want us to come and find him, and only when he's ready. We go after him too soon, he'll eliminate the signal and disappear with the Ark."

Ron nodded in agreement, "His first step in conquering the world is revenge against his oldest enemies. His lair won't be far, but it will be heavily guarded."

"And we won't be able to approach it with any vehicle, nor will we be able to take weapons," Wade added, "The IDOL will simply shut them down, or turn them against us, like he did with the Ninjet."

Ron sighed, "I miss that car."

"Focus, Ron," Kim said automatically.

"Assaulting a heavily guarded lair with no equipment while the enemy has plenty of firepower at his disposal. Sounds fun." Ron mused.

"Oh, I don't think he'll have any weapons, at least none that work," Wade said with a grin, "That's the other reason we wanted him to go back to his lair."

"Care to explain?", Kim asked.

"You knew I wanted to," Wade teased, "And I can't take credit for this. It was Wil's idea. When Dementor came and took the Ark, he was, of course, carrying the IDOL, in case he needed it. I was able to lock onto the IDOL's signal and upload a new program. The default setting on the IDOL now puts it in a state where it simply shuts down everything electronic within a five mile radius, which is its maximum effective range. The program is set to execute early tomorrow morning. That's when we'll roll in, giving us time tonight to make our plans."

"I don't understand, Wade," Kim inquired, "Why not just upload a command that tells the IDOL to shut itself off?"

"Can't" Wade answered, "The IDOL was designed with some extremely sophisticated firewalls to prevent someone from doing precisely that or anything like it. We can't shut it down, nor can we operate it by remote, but we can reset the defaults with what the software in the IDOL will think is a harmless protocol. Early tomorrow, all his lights are going to go out."

"Then we attack at dawn," Ron stated with an almost fierce determination.

••

"Idiot," Dementor scoffed at the corpse lying at his feet.

They had set the Ark on a small dais in the main hall of the lair. It was cavernous, almost cathedral-like, and seemed a proper setting. The crate was removed and taken away, and the poles used to lift the Ark were slid out from their places, leaving only the relic to sit amidst a soft golden glow that seemed to emanate from the Ark itself. It was nearly impossible to look at it without a sense of awe.

One of Dementor's henchmen had walked up to it, unable to resist the urge to touch it. That urge cost him his life. The second his skin came in contact with the Ark, some Unseen Force struck him where he stood. There was no flash, no bang, no smoke, he simply crumpled up in a heap and breathed no more.

Dementor stood there impassively, regarding the dead man as one regards a dead insect. At least, that was the impression he was trying to give to the other men in the room with him. Inside, a fear took hold of him like a fire that began in his feet and worked its way upward.

"_The army that marches with the Ark before it is invincible."_ That was what Locke had told him. But what if Locke were making an assumption? What if it were only the ancient Israeli army that seemed invincible when the Ark went before it?

No question there was real power at work here. The man lying on the floor of the dais was proof of that.

_So God was a vengeful being after all, _Dementor thought to himself.

_Or maybe God simply won't allow anyone to use Him or His symbols as weapons of evil._

Dementor froze. He wasn't sure where that second thought had come from. It wasn't as though a voice had spoken inside his head. The thought was simply there, as though it appeared without his control. Perhaps it was best to be rid of this talisman. And yet…

_The army that marches with the Ark before it was not invincible, it was protected. Which is practically invincible._

Dementor waited for a reply-thought to pop into his head, but none came.

So that was it. God protected His talisman. If Dementor put it at the head of his army, God would have to protect him and his forces if He wanted to protect the Ark.

_Only a fool would assume God is so easily manipulated. Or can be manipulated at all._

That thought hadn't come from him either, but he pushed it aside before it could fully materialize in his mind. This was what the true power of the Ark was. God didn't want anyone touching His stuff, and He would destroy entire opposing armies in order to make sure of this. Under the right circumstances, Dementor thought, God was just a puppet.

From the center of the dais, from the very center of the Ark, and simultaneously all around them; from the walls, from the mountain beneath them, from the very air itself, there came a vast, deep rumble. It was not an earthquake, or an avalanche or rockslide. It was not a roar, indeed, it was not loud. But it was deep, deeper than the foundations of the earth itself. It almost sounded like…

_A growl_

…something menacing, angry, full of wrath.

_He is not mocked._

Dementor pretended he hadn't heard anything, and strode calmly across the floor of the main hall to the nearest door.

"Clean that up!" he barked at his henchmen, indicating the body at the foot of the Ark.

Then he exited.

••

Professor Dementor had a very large army at the ready. It was slightly diminished overnight, as every henchman who had been in that hall, and had heard that rumble, decided they no longer wanted any part of this particular operation.

They were gone before morning.

••

It was night. The cab had driven for more than two hours. They were in a desert region, with massive, mountainous rock formations scattered here and there. There was no moon in the sky, but there were a million stars out, and they seemed brighter than normal due to the lack of the moon's presence.

"Here," The passenger said. He had been silent for the entire trip.

"What?" The cabbie asked, startled.

"Here, stop here."

"But there's nothing here."

"I said stop here!"

The cab slowly came to a halt. The passenger handed the driver several hundred dollars, and then got out.

"You sure you're going to be all right?" the driver asked.

The ancient looking passenger said nothing. He merely stood there and stared at the driver.

"All right," the cabbie shrugged his shoulders. He pulled the cab around and headed East again.

The elderly man stood and watched as the cab faded into the distance, then he turned and walked into the desert.

••

Cold, gray light began to tinge the horizon in the east. Cloudless was the sky, and frigid was the air. The massive stone formations looked like immense sentinels guarding a dead land. No indigenous life moved, no bird in the air, no beast on the ground. What few words passed between any in the company of soldiers were hushed, as though the very sound of them were swallowed up by the desert air.

They had gathered several miles east of the fortress, watching, and waiting. The lights from the walls twinkled, and the sounds of machines, of engines, wafted across the desert floor as a stench wafts across a hot room. Several hoverjets were idling behind those walls on launch pads, waiting to be sent skyward should an alarm be raised.

Dementor, with some sense of ancient villainy, had constructed his lair in the style of a mountaintop fortress, which sat upon a massive rock formation. The entire setting looked as though it had been transplanted out of ancient days, save for the machinery and electrical equipment. It had high walls all around the front of it, with guards patrolling the battlements. The rear was a natural wall made up of a towering rock formation that jutted up from within the lair itself. One large gate was located at the top of a road leading down to the floor of the desert. Its purpose, of course, had been to haul equipment and building material by truck, but the finished product looked like a low-lying castle; the type lived in by evil wizards in fantasy stories.

Ron sat atop his horse at the center of the line of warriors that stretched out on either side. To his left was his wife. She had the Lotus Blade strapped to her back. Her use of the weapon was the one condition Ron would accept upon her insistence that she be included in the operation. As his daughter grew older, Ron was increasingly protective of her and her mother. But he also knew that asking Kim to stay behind was an act of futility. He felt the bulge in the saddlebag at his side; the contents of the backpack Wade had given him the day before, and wondered if Kim suspected what its contents were. She had not asked him, and he hadn't told her. She would look at him every now and then, knowing something was on his mind, and wanting to ask, but at the same time, not wanting to know the answer.

Ron had requested the contents of the backpack from Wade after having spent time talking to Rabbi Katz the morning before the Ark wastaken. It was an enlightening conversation. Ron wanted to know if the Ark was as powerful as legend said it was. He was surprised by the Rabbi's answer.

"I don't know, Ronald, and frankly, it doesn't matter."

"Huh?"

"Ron, the Ark isn't a weapon. It has no power of its own. If it is a source of power as some claim, then that power comes only from God, and only when He chooses to exercise that power." Katz explained. "But as much as it is not a weapon, it is something much more important."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Ronald, the Ark is not just a symbol of us, or of our people. It is a token placed here on earth by God, it is the representation of all we hold dearest and truest to us; that God will one day restore His people, and His kingdom."

Ron listened intently.

"The Ark wasn't just marched before the army of Israel. It went before the nation of Israel as it wandered for forty years, providing hope when times were darkest. It sat in the temple, and the men of Israel came before it to offer their sacrifices of atonement. Think of it, Ron. The blood of sacrificial lambs was sprinkled on the side of it to atone for the sins of each man and his family. Now that's power, Ronald. Making an army invincible only takes strong, well-trained warriors. Forgiveness of sin? That takes the power of God Himself."

Ron thought about all this as Katz spoke.

"For thousands of years, the Ark has been the object of hope and faith to one man, while the object of power and subjugation to another. It's almost representative of how we see God. Many see Him as a benevolent, loving being, while others see Him as a cold, vengeful deity. "

"How do you see him?" Ron was curious.

"God is all things, Ron. He is merciful and vengeful. Loving and wrathful. The only thing He is not, is evil."

"I thought you said He was all things." Ron couldn't help himself.

"He is. But evil is not something of substance, it is simply the natural state of existence when there is no good. Just as darkness and cold have no substance, but light and warmth do. Cold and dark are the natural state of existence when light and warmth are not present. But cold and dark are not substantive, they have no physical presence. They are simply the absence of something. Evil is simply the absence of good. Light cannot be both light and dark, just as God cannot be both Good and evil. And since evil is nothing of substance, it is not wrong to say God is all things." The Rabbi said evenly.

Ron said nothing at this.

"But we've wandered off the subject," the Rabbi said helpfully, "You want to know why the Ark is so important, why the order of Metaken has sworn to protect it from falling into the wrong hands."

Stoppable nodded.

Rabbi Katz leaned in close, and spoke in low, forceful tones, "The moment we take any of God's symbols lightly, and do not keep them holy, is the moment we begin to lose who we are; not just as Jews, but as God's children. Do you know what is in the Ark?"

"Just sand, from what Dr. Jones indicated." Ron recalled.

Rabbi Katz smiled, "Sand was just the packing material. You don't put two stone tablets into a box without packing material."

"Then the-?" Ron began.

"Ten Commandments are contained within the Ark." Katz cut him off, "The Word, written by God himself. If we do not protect the Ark, then we do not protect God's Word. Take His symbol lightly, then how long before His Word is taken lightly as well? No. We guard the Ark with our lives, just as we guard the Word with our souls. If we do not do both, then we will have neither."

"I understand," Ron said solemnly.

"Now, this is not to say that God hasn't allowed the Ark to be taken from time to time, and put into the wrong hands," Katz said cryptically, "But it is all to His purpose."

Sitting in the desert in the cold pre-dawn hours, Ron realized Katz knew Dementor was coming for the Ark and he would allow it to be taken, rather than fight to protect it. But for what reason, he could not guess. He thought about riding over and asking him, but time was drawing short. Ron was determined to retrieve the Ark. Failing that, he was determined not to allow Dementor to keep possession of it. For this reason, he had asked Wade to bring him two experimental Quantum Cobalt explosive devices. If all else failed, he would destroy the Ark rather than see it fall into the hands of evil, whether or not evil was capable of harnessing any power the Ark might have.

"You think we should have brought more people?" Kim asked, just for the sake of making conversation.

Ron shrugged, "I get the feeling our hundred troops could be a hundred thousand and it wouldn't make much of a difference."

There were fifty Metaken warriors present, including Rabbi Katz, who was the head of the Order. He had taken the place of Rabbi Berkowitz, who created the secret band of Abir warriors when the Ark was originally brought to Middleton by Zim and Indy.

In addition to the Metaken warriors, there were roughly fifty of GJ's best Deep Field Operatives, all here on a voluntary basis, including Wil Du. Among the DFO's were a villain and a disgraced agent, trying to earn back his good name. Jim Possible and Arianna had volunteered to join the attempt to retrieve the Ark. Arianna, a devout Catholic, was furious when she found out what the IDOL had been used for. As a native of Brazil, she was familiar with the cruelty the Nazis were capable of, and as a Catholic, the Ark was as sacred to her as the Holy Grail would have been. She felt responsible, and wished to correct her mistake.

Ron had to admit, it wasn't a very large force for an army about to attack a walled fortress in the desert. But it was the best they could do. Regular military could not be utilized mainly because it would attract attention. What was about to happen would never be officially acknowledged by the United States Government, or its Military. As with most Global Justice operations that took place in the U.S., an official investigation would be launched, deliberately erroneous conclusions would be made, and the internet would be abuzz for years with conspiracy theories as to what "really happened."

All one hundred plus warriors were on horseback, knowing the IDOL would shut down anything electronic, even vehicles, which the IDOL could get control of through the GPS systems. BY direct order, they were prohibited from bringing non-electronic firearms by the Pentagon. If any shots were heard, especially on a large scale, the military would be forced to respond, and GJ would likely be shut down permanently. Though this presented a difficulty, it did not mean they were marching into the face of opposing artillery. Most modern supervillians preferred high-tech weaponry; deathrays, particle beam weapons, blasters, etc. All those would be inoperable in a few moments when the IDOL's new programming went into effect.

"I guess I'd feel better with the hundred thousand," Kim said with a weak smile.

Ron smiled and looked at his wife, sitting astride a horse in the cold pre-dawn hours, wearing her battlesuit even though it wouldn't be operational. He wondered if there was ever a time when she wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Ron was wearing his Ronin outfit, but without the mask. For some reason, he wanted to go into battle with his face uncovered. Somehow it felt more honorable, considering the task at hand.

"Ron," Kim said softly, "If there is something you want to tell me…"

Ron suddenly felt a twinge of guilt for keeping things from her. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the backpack containing the Quantum Cobalt devices and took them out for her to see. She recognized them for what they were.

"I won't allow Dementor to have the Ark." Ron said with such quiet intensity that it surprised even him.

"You brought me on a suicide mission?" Kim demanded, though in a soft voice so as no one else would hear.

"Not if I can help it," Ron said with conviction, "This is the contingency plan if all else fails."

Kim breathed a sigh of relief, "Then let's make sure it doesn't come to that."

"Works for me," Ron agreed. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

At that moment, Wil Du and Rabbi Katz rode up and pulled their horses next to Ron and Kim.

"Well, General Stoppable, now that we've seen the place, any ideas for a battle plan?", Du asked.

"I'm not much of a military leader," Ron confessed, "I was thinking basic frontal assault. But I'm open to suggestions."

"I sent a small advance group of my best stealth warriors on foot," Katz informed them, "Maybe they will find a suitable place for us to breach the wall. Has anyone done any reconnaissance on this place?"

"We were able to locate it with our satellites via the tracking device you allowed us to place in the crate," Du said, "But we couldn't get detailed imagery. He's using some kind of device to obscure our imaging technology. All we got were map coordinates and blurry pictures."

"I think we need to go with Ron's plan," Kim contributed, "Time is a factor here. Once Dementor realizes he has no weapons or useable vehicles, he will be looking to relocate as soon as possible. I think it's in our best interest to contain him here."

"Yeah." Ron added, "What she said."

"I've issued non-electronic grapplers to everyone I could," Du reported, "If Katz's advance team gets back in time to give us some good recon, then we'll devise a quick plan that utilizes that information. Otherwise, frontal assault it is; to the wall and up over it."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"One last thing", Kim added, "I don't think we should give Dementor much time to react. He's evil, but he's not stupid."

"Agreed", Du nodded, "The charge signal will be given as soon as the lights go out,"

Katz immediately wheeled his horse around and began to spread the word among his men. Wil Du did the same.

"Shoot," Ron exclaimed, "I forgot to ask Rabbi Katz why he let Dementor take the Ark."

"You can ask him afterward," Kim assured him.

Ron nodded.

The light behind them in the east grew brighter. The sun would be coming up soon. The line of horsed warriors stood one hundred wide, so as to look as intimidating as possible. Though no alarm had yet been raised, there would be one soon enough. And a line of horseman charging the fortress would look a little more impressive than a tight column of trotting warriors. They would funnel their way onto the steep road that led up to the walls, and then find a suitable place to grapple themselves up and over.

Then, a silence descended upon the desert. The whining/roaring engines of the hoverjets that were idling died down. Any machinery that was running suddenly shut off. Last of all, the lights atop the wall blinked out.

For a brief moment, all was utter silence. To Ron, everything suddenly looked as though a battle were taking place in ancient times; the assault on Ai, the battle of Megiddo, the taking of Tyre by Alexander, or even a reverse re-enactment of the attack on Masada. Here was a line of horsed warriors, with only the weapons they could carry, about to attack a fortress built atop a great rock.

Ron wondered who was going to give the signal. That question was answered by the long, sustained and unmistakable sound of a horn. Ron looked over and saw Rabbi Katz with his lips pressed against what looked like an ancient ram's horn (for that is what it was). The sound filled the air, and rang out across the desert. It was a sound that was at once noble and ominous; the herald of a battle about to take place.

Wil Du looked at Ron and nodded. Ron spurred his horse, and broke from the line. Kim was immediately behind him by half a length, and then, the entire line suddenly surged forward.

The charge was on.

••

The old man had been walking and climbing all night. He was nearly at the base of the wall when he heard the sounding of the horn. He merely nodded to himself and continued onward toward the front gate.

••

Dementor hadn't slept well. That is to say, he hadn't slept at all. When the henchman came pounding on his door, he was nearly frightened out of his wits.

"What is it?" he growled.

"Sir, everything has shut down! Even the power!" came a frantic voice behind his door.

"Impossible," Dementor fumed, "Bring me the IDOL."

"Yes, Sir!"

Up on the wall there was a general state of panic. No one had noticed the line of horses sitting on the desert floor below until they began to approach. When one of them tried to sound the alarm, nothing happened, while others were attempting to use their defensive weapons to no avail. Worse yet, no one was sure what exactly they were being attacked by, or how many of them there were. At the exact moment the charge began, the sun peaked up over the horizon and obscured their vision. The desert floor was still in shadow, and the sun seemed intensely bright this morning. No one could see anything down there. Suddenly, to everyone's astonishment, a stranger in a fedora swung in on what looked like a bullwhip. He landed lightly and began dispatching henchmen with his fists. Pandemonium erupted.

••

It was time to come out of hiding. The sound of the horn indicated to him that someone was coming to get the Ark, and he had no doubt whoever they were, they were the good guys.

They would need some help.

He hadn't been in the hoverjet that went on the raid to Middleton, but he did see what they brought back. Though he couldn't see through the crate, he knew what was in it. Stealthily, he followed the crate to the cavernous hall where they unpacked it and set it upon the dais. He watched as the henchman who touched the Ark perished, and then felt the rumble that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. To his pleasant surprise, the remaining henchmen evacuated the hall soon after Dementor had left, leaving him alone with the Ark.

Indiana Jones spent the entire night gazing at the most important archeological discovery of his life. He kept a respectable distance, not wanting to touch it or defile it. Memories came flooding over him; of Marion, of Zim. The two people in his life he had loved more than any others. Each of them had their own special place in his heart, in his very soul, and he loved them both deeply. He found it interesting how memories of either of them inevitably were attached to memories of the Ark itself. Marion had been there when he had discovered it. Zim was with him when the Ark had come to Middleton.

That particular memory, in fact, brought back nostalgic feelings of longing and awkwardness. In 1957, Soviet operatives had broken into Area 51 with Indy as their hostage, and absconded with the remains of an alien being from another dimension; the space between spaces, as it were. Indy, as usual, escaped their clutches and attempted to thwart their mission. In the ensuing battle, the crate containing the Ark had been inadvertently discovered. When Zim was sent to investigate the break-in at area 51, she found the Ark, and made arrangements to have it moved to her hometown of Middleton in the hopes that such an obscure location would never attract unwanted attention again. Because of Indy's history with the Ark, the OSS wanted him involved in the relocation process. By that time, Indy had married Marion Ravenwood, and James was already nine years old. The cargo plane ride to Middleton was mostly uncomfortable silence. He had asked awkwardly how James was doing. Her answer was terse, followed by a firm reminder that she didn't want anything to do with him, and did not want him attempting to have a relationship with his son. At the time, Indy didn't understand why. But in later years, the answers would be revealed to him, and he understood what she had done, even if he didn't necessarily approve of it.

Gazing at the Ark, Indy didn't sleep at all that night, didn't feel the need to. When the sound of the horn roused him from his thoughts, he didn't hesitate. He sprinted out the door, toward the outer wall. One of the wings of a hoverjet was folded for storage, and was sticking straight in the air, the tip of which was well above the top of the wall. Indy took out his whip, lashed it to the wingtip then sprinted as hard as he could until his feet left the ground and he swung up landing atop the wall.

The final adventure of Indiana Jones had begun.

••

As they neared the base of the road, they began to merge seamlessly into a column three horses wide. Ron, Kim and Rabbi Katz were out front, urging their rides to gallop as fast as they dared. The road switched back several times during its ascent, and it was a harrowing ride. Had those inside the wall use of their weapons, everyone on horseback would have been annihilated before they reached the midpoint. As it was, no one had even so much as hurled a rock in their direction. Soon the entire column was on the road, resembling a massive millipede making its way around the curves and ever upward. Ron stole a glance to the top of the wall but saw only faces on the right side of the gate, none of the left. He had no time to wonder about this, however. They were about to reach the base of the wall. Ron hoped grapplers would be all they needed.

••

The ancient wanderer made his way along the base of the wall to the front gate. Without hesitating, he began to push.

••

"How do I get the front gate open?" Indy had the scruff of a henchman's shirt in his fists.

"You will learn nothing from me." The henchman sneered.

Indy dragged him over to the wall and shoved him over the side. The henchman screamed all the way down. Jones grabbed another henchman.

"How do I-?"

"The gate operates on a hydraulic system!" The henchman gibbered, "There's a manual release on the other side. Foot pedal at the top of the wall nearest to the gate."

Indy dropped him and looked over at the gate. It was thick, but not thick enough for him to stand on, or walk across. Jones grabbed his whip and lashed it once more around the tip of the wing of the hoverjet. He swung back down into the foreyard, bringing his feet up into the chests of two oncoming henchmen as he reached the bottom. Then he turned and looked for a way up the wall on the left side. There was a stairway to his left, but nothing close to the gate would facilitate him. Indy gritted his teeth and went to work. Sprinting over to the base of the stairs, he was met by three opponents, intent on stopping him. They were descending the staircase in single file, very close to each other. The lead henchman pulled up short when he saw Indy, and his two comrades behind him piled into his back. At the same instant, Indy barreled his fist straight into the face of the man closest to him. His opponent's head snapped back and rammed into the head of the man behind, which in turn smacked into the third man's head. All three fell off the stairs. Indy bounded up the steps two at a time and was met with a small reception at the top. He plunged his fist into the gut of the nearest henchman, who doubled over. Indy grabbed him and shoved him into the next man, and both went tumbling off the catwalk into the foreyard. There were only three men remaining between him and the gate release. Left into the face of the first, uppercut to the chin of the second, followed by a vicious right hook that sent him stumbling backward into the final henchmen who lightly sidestepped his comrade only to feel Indy's hand on the back of his neck, forcing his head downward into Indy's upward rising knee. He dropped in a heap. Jones scrambled over to the point where the gate was attached to the wall and found a small foot lever there. He stepped on it.

••

The old man pushed harder, and to his astonishment, the gate began to move inward. He leaned his frail weight against the massive door, satisfied at the feeling of it giving way before him. As soon as it was open as wide as it could go, he stepped just to the right, and narrowly avoided being trampled by horse hooves.

••

"The gate is open!" Rabbi Katz said with no small amount of shock in his voice.

Ron knew how he felt. He squinted and saw what looked like an old man pushing against the door. He brushed it off as a trick of the early morning light. One of Katz's advance team members must have gotten inside and was already stirring things up, including opening the gate. Stoppable raised his arm and waved everyone forward. The riders in the first few rows behind him saw his gesture and made a similar one of their own for the benefit of those behind. The entire column came thundering into the foreyard of Dementor's fortress.

••

Indy watched with satisfaction as the cavalry came galloping in through the front gate and spread out in as many different directions as possible. Whoever they were, they were ready to fight. Then Jones was set upon by more men who had scrambled up the stairs behind him. Reinforcements had emerged from some inner part of the fortress and some were headed in his direction. The newly arriving henchmen had brought weapons; clubs, staffs, anything that could be wielded as a primitive weapon. Indy squared himself, took out his whip and flicked it at the closest henchman when he was near enough. The slender leather rope lashed itself around the man's club, and Jones yanked it from his grasp. He did the same to the second man's staff, and set to work on the rest.

••

The interior of the fortress looked like something out of a fantasy novel. There was a large foreyard immediately inside the gate which was marked with many landing pads for the hoverjets. More than half the pads were empty. There was a massive overhanging rock that towered above the foreyard, and seemed to serve in place of any actual buildings. In the face of the rock were several doors; some as large as an aircraft hangar, and others vehicular or human sized. Clearly the immense stone formation had been hollowed out to serve as quarters, storage and whatever else was needed. The high, black iron wall that surrounded the foreyard embedded itself in the face of the rock on either side, which left very tight quarters for the hoverjets when all the landing pads were occupied. It was for this reason the satellite imagery of the location always turned out blurry. When all the hoverjets were idling on all the landing pads, the heat waves emanating upward were so intense that any imaging devices would have been unable to penetrate them clearly enough to produce accurate pictures of the lair. Dementor was no fool, he had planned well.

••

Ron broke to the left as soon as he was in the gate, wanting to leave plenty of room for those behind him to make their way through the opening. He charged his horse at a group of opponents who scattered at his approach. Ron swung himself down from the animal and began delivering punches and kicks in rapid succession. Four men were lying on the ground when Ron reached into the saddlebag and brought out the backpack with the cobalt charges. He slung it to his back and was about to charge another group of enemy soldiers when he heard something odd. It was a cracking sound, almost like a gunshot, but not as loud. He turned to see the last thing he expected. Atop the wall to the left of the gate was a man wearing a leather jacket, khakis and a brown fedora. He had a bullwhip, and was doing some significant damage to the henchmen unfortunate enough to be in his path. One man was had the whip wrap itself around his neck. He was abruptly yanked forward only to stumble headlong into the fist of the man in the hat. The remaining henchmen on the wall lost their resolve and tried to make their way back long the wall and down the stairs, but they were met by resistance as the henchmen at the back of the group tried to make their way forward.

"Who is that?" Ron yelled to his wife above the increasing roar of the battle, "Can't be one of Katz's men!"

Kim had just dismounted and turned to follow Ron's gaze, "Maybe a GJ agent we haven't met yet. Is it really that important right now?"

"I guess not", Ron allowed, "Just…something familiar about him."

Ron was set upon by henchmen and too busy to worry about it further.

Roughly twenty guards were rushing at Kim, but she did not flinch. Changing the Lotus blade into a naginata, specifically the Cactus Blade, she brought it up over her head and struck the ground in front of her. A massive rumble shook the immediate vicinity as a thousand cracks traveled at lightning speed toward the oncoming enemy. The front row of henchmen merely exploded, the second were tossed into the air, and the third were blown off their feet. The echoes of Raitaro resounded throughout Dementor's lair.

Rabbi Katz's weapon of choice was a pair of fighting sticks, roughly a foot and a half in length each. They twirled and danced in his deft hands as he swung them, striking foe after foe. His Metaken warriors were well trained in the art of Abir combat, which, to an outsider, would appear as a blend of eastern martial arts and Greco-Roman wrestling. An opponent striking with his fist would first be met with a flurry of blocking maneuvers from very fast Abir hands; hands which were not only blocking an incoming fist, but working to gain leverage on an opponent's arm in order to throw him off his feet. The attacker would be violently pulled forward, and find himself tumbling face first to the ground, with a solid fist to the back of his head for good measure. More often than not, one who attacked a master of the Abir fighting style found himself unconscious within a few moves.

Wil Du and his GJ agents were making good headway against the enemy. Du had suspended the non-lethal directives for this mission, as he was wont to do from time to time when he felt the mission called for it. His agents did not relish killing opponents, especially when they felt those opponents were mostly misguided henchmen working for a villain who either paid them for their services, or intimidated them into doing their jobs. But today, it was understood that lethal force was very necessary.

Jim and Arianna were also holding their own. Arianna due in part to her mutant power, which she wielded to great effect.

••

Not long before she was born, Arianna's mother had taken ill. She was sent to a medical facility that had been conducting human trials on various pregnancy ailment remedies, and Arianna's mother was a prime candidate. Unfortunately, the facility was headed by a rather unscrupulous doctor who conducted human trials of his own in secret. He exposed Arianna's mother to a highly concentrated dose of gamma rays in the hope of mutating the child in her womb. It worked. Ariana was born with a kinetic ability; she could levitate any object weighing less 150 kilograms up to ten feet away from her. At a very young age, she was moving toys and books through the air, to the astonishment of her family and friends. Her loving parents taught her to keep her mutation a secret, in the hopes she could have as normal a life as possible. However, Arianna's mother died from the prolonged effects of the gamma radiation she was subjected to when Arianna was only 19. When she sought out the medical facility and in particular, the doctor who had performed his secret experiment on her, she discovered the facility had been quietly shut down by the Brazilian Government, its personnel relocated to places unknown. As an act of vengeance, Arianna swore she would make every member of the government pay for what happened to her mother, and she turned to a life of crime in order to finance her quest. It was amazing what she could steal just by levitating it out of its display case or off its shelf, and into her possession. Her ability soon caught the attention of some of Brazil's more infamous supervillains, and she began hiring her services out to those who could pay handsomely. She was in the middle of a rather large heist from a bank when she came under the arresting custody of one of Global Justice's best agents; Jim Possible. They got to know each other on a long, slow extradition trip to the United States. And by the time she broke out of her GJ holding facility, they were in love.

••

She picked up two at once, and brought them toward her, bringing their faces rapidly into her fists. Sometimes she would toss an enemy at Jim, who would dispatch the foe with a roundhouse kick. All during the fighting, she began to feel a strange sensation within her; emotions she hadn't felt before. What she was doing at the moment was not something she would profit by, nor would she gain a sense of vengeance from it. And yet, she felt more fulfilled just by what little she had thus far contributed to the battle than anything she had done in her life up to this point. She felt a satisfaction at knowing what she was doing was for the cause of right, against evil.

Arianna was beginning to get a taste for hero work.

Meanwhile, the agents and the Metaken Warriors began to cut large swaths into the enemy lines, driving them back or dispatching them altogether. Ron, busily fighting off larger opposing numbers, caught an odd sight out of the corner of his eye. When he looked again to confirm what he thought he saw it was no longer there. But he was sure he had seen a very, very old man make his way through the foreyard as though he were jostling his way through a crowded sidewalk. He told himself he was seeing things and continued dispatching Dementor's troops.

Ron, glancing over to make sure Kim was doing alright, began to relax a bit. They had caught Dementor by surprise, and the battle would be over within the hour. The Ark would soon be back under the protection of Rabbi Katz, Dementor would be in custody and all would be restored. He even began to smile as he threw punches and kicks and took down one enemy after another. At long last, one of Ron Stoppable's battle plans had gone according to design. In the background, he could hear Jim and Arianna chattering to each other. Then he noticed Wil Du had stepped back from the line and began to call out orders to his agents, coordinating their attacks. The enemy was driven almost to the stone wall, and while foes were pouring out of the doors, the reinforcements weren't significant.

Then, to Ron's surprise and dismay, the engines of one of the hoverjets behind him roared to life.

••

Dementor had figured out the problem with the IDOL. And while he couldn't change the default settings for the device, there was something else he could do. He raised the device above his head and smashed it to the floor, then stomped on the shattered pieces until they were no bigger than his thumb. The lights in his quarters blinked on.

Most villains don't like to give up the toys they've stolen, even if those toys aren't functioning properly any more. Dementor was no fool (he was a professor, after all). He realized that in order to keep the bigger prize, he would have to lose the smaller one.

He pulled out a communications device and punched several buttons.

"Yes, Professor?" came a crackly voice.

"Bring in the reinforcements," Dementor growled, "All of them."

••

Indy was just finishing off the final thug on the wall when he heard the engine fire up. Sensing a bad turn of events, he once more lashed the tip of the hoverjet's wing and swung down into the foreyard, landing on the run. He dashed into the hoverjet itself and was set upon by four henchmen who had been in hiding. Jones threw a left into the nearest jaw, then a right to the gut, dropping the other man like a sack of cement. An elbow caught him on the face, and he reeled for a second then recovered himself, returning the elbow with a viscous backhand. A third enemy was dropped with a solid right fist squarely to the nose, and the fourth…

…the fourth man just stood there for a second, then turned and ran down a small corridor toward the hoverjet's cargo hold. Indy went chasing after him with a wild yell he hoped sounded intimidating. When they got to a door, it slid open.

Inside were fifty of Dementor's troops, all glaring at Indy.

Jones pulled up abruptly, his yell trailed off rapidly. He stood there for a split second with a look of horrified shock on his face, then went racing back up the corridor and out of the jet, with all fifty opponents hot on his tail.

••

One of the hoverjet's blasters fired. An explosion erupted in the foreyard near where the Metaken were fighting. Several of them went flying through the air, and did not move again when they hit the ground.

Ron looked at his wife who had a blank look on her face, then over at Wil Du who was talking on a communicator. Du sprinted over to Ron's position.

"Wade says he's no longer getting a signal from the IDOL," Du shouted above the noise.

"Which means Dementor destroyed the it." Kim contributed.

"And he now has the upper hand," Ron concluded grimly.

"I'm ordering a withdrawal," Du said determinedly, "We'll have to deal with Dementor another day."

"NO!" Ron shouted, "We can't let him keep the Ark!"

"This is not up for discussion, Agent Ronin!" Du barked, "We withdraw now and then we will-"

"Look!" Kim shouted.

Behind them, from the main doors of each of the hoverjets that had been parked in the foreyard, fifty enemy soldiers came streaming out, all of them armed. Weapons fire erupted in the foreyard, several GJ agents went down. In the skies above, ten to fifteen more hoverjets flew into view and began descending toward the fortress.

"It's a good bet they're full of troops, too." Ron said, almost bitterly.

Two hundred and fifty armed enemy soldiers were between them and the gates. Another hoverjet sitting on the foreyard began firing its weapons. Explosions were erupting all over the foreyard.

"Inside!" Du shouted, "Get inside the fortress!"

No one questioned the orders. What had been an inevitable victory a moment ago was now a fight just to survive. Jim and Arianna managed to fight their way to a smaller side door. Jim called out for the others. As many as could make it, they all filed inside, with the enemy close on their heels. They raced down a short corridor to another door and rushed inside, finding themselves in the great central hall with the Ark on the metal dais at the far end. Across from them another door burst open. Additional GJ agents and what remained of Rabbi Katz and his Abir fighters came pouring in. Leaving a few men to bar the doors, they rushed over to join their compatriots. For the moment, none of Dementor's men were in the hall.

"There's nothing to barricade the doors!" one of the agents observed.

"We'll try and hold the doors closed as long as possible," Rabbi Katz shouted, "Let us know what plan you come up with."

"I don't know how we're going to get out of this," Wil Du said with frustration.

"I might," Ron said quietly, pulling the backpack off and unzipping it.

Kim's face went white, "Ron, NO!"

Ron merely looked at her but said nothing. He then turned to Wil and showed him the contents of the bag.

"How large will the explosion be?" Wil asked quietly.

"Shouldn't take more than whatever is on that side of the hall," Ron said emphatically.

"Ron-" Kim began.

"No." Ron said quietly, but firmly, "I told you, I will not allow Dementor to have possession of the Ark. This was a contingency plan, and the time for that plan to be executed has come."

Kim wanted to say a hundred things at once, but bit her lip.

"With the Ark destroyed, and GJ reinforcements on their way," Ron said, turning to Wil, "The fight won't last much longer. Dementor will want to make a hasty retreat."

"There has to be another way," Wil Du said, not wanting to lose his friend.

"If you can think of one, I'm open to suggestions." Ron returned.

"Whatever you do, do it fast!" came a shout from across the enormous room, "They are already battering the-"

At that instant, two doors came crashing inward and enemy troops streamed into the great hall.

"Take care of Veronica", Ron kissed his wife hurriedly, "I love you."

"Ron! You can't…" Kim Possible fought back tears, "You just… I love you too."

He leaped away just before they were set upon by enemy troops.

••

It was a curious feeling for Ron, being terrified and at peace all at once. He kept a firm grip on the cobalt charges as he made his way toward the platform where the Ark rested. He suddenly knew nothing of any world beyond the walls of the lair; even Kim and Veronica began to become a dim echo of a memory. All that mattered was destroying the Ark before Dementor had an opportunity to use it. The army that marched with the Ark before it was invincible. And then, Rabbi Katz's words from the previous day rang in his head as well; 'Ronald, the Ark is not just a symbol of us, or of our people. It is a token placed here on earth by God, it is the representation of all we hold dearest and truest to us; that God will one day restore His people, and His kingdom.'

And so it was that Ron would finally end his own life not out of self-pity, not out of a sense of false nobility, but rather motivated by the belief that even the symbol of a Faith was bigger than him, and worth more than his life; that to allow this symbol to be used for evil would be an abomination.

Explosions continued to rock the grounds around the lair. Kim was just managing to keep the enemy busy, in order to buy Ron some time. Jim and Arianna had Dementor's troops fully occupied as well. It was a hopeless battle, no question. In a matter of minutes, Dementor's army would overwhelm them, and all would be lost completely.

Ron had to take his opportunity now. He clutched the bombs to him, as a precious thing to be guarded. The dais at the far end of the massive room was close. The Ark almost seemed to be glowing as Ron drew near. But when he got to the platform, there was something else. No, there was some_ONE_ else. A Presence that seemed to be waiting expectantly for him. Overcome with realization, Ron was driven to his knees; the Name escaped his lips almost before he was aware of it,

"Adonai."

He barely managed to keep a grip on the explosives.

There was a response, a whisper that rumbled from deep within the earth, and floated to him from out of the sky, and made itself known from every part of his surroundings:

"Ronin."

In the furthest reaches of Ron's mind he wondered that the Almighty would call him by his hero name. He remained on his knees, his eyes cast downward. He was not kneeling before the Ark, but rather the One who had come to be in that space where the Ark currently rested.

"I am Your servant." Ron whispered firmly.

The conflict behind him seemed to slow down and grow dim, almost as though everything were happening in slow motion. The urgency Ron felt from the need to destroy the Ark was still there, but it was overpowered by the all-consuming Presence of the King of Kings. Ron waited for instructions.

Then, a hand on his shoulder, "I'll take it from here, kid."

Ron looked up and marveled at the face staring back at him. It was framed in a brown fedora, and the eyes almost sparkled with a mysterious knowledge. The eyes... Ron realized there was no eye patch, and then was startled to realize there was no discernible age either. He was not old, nor was he young, he was simply Indiana Jones. Ron knew deep within him that this was not some time travel happenstance, nor was he hallucinating. They were in the Presence of the One, and with Him, all good things are eternal. In the reflection of Indy's eyes, Ron saw himself, also ageless; neither young nor old, but simply Ron... Ronin. Indy gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze, then stooped and picked up the Quantum Cobalt charges from Ron's grasp.

Suddenly they were set upon by enemy troops. Indy dropped the bag and squared off against the nearest opponent. Ron turned and put his back to the archeologist, protecting his flank, and for a few moments, they set about the task of defending themselves. Indy threw one punch after another at any foe who came within reach. A right to the jaw, a left to the chin; Dementor's soldiers began to pile up at his feet. Ronin kept pace, delivering roundhouse kicks, flurries of fists, and sometimes a knee or an elbow. He felt the surge of Monkey Kung Fu flowing through him as it never had before, fueled by a deeper Power; one with no end or beginning.

When all enemies in the immediate vicinity had been dispatched, Indy once more picked up the backpack.

"Take care of that family, kid. Do it for me, because I was unable to take care of mine." For a brief instant, regret played across Indy's face.

"They know you wanted to," Ron said quietly. A tear slid down his cheek though he was not fully aware of why.

Indy smiled a small, lopsided grin, then took a deep breath and stepped toward the Ark. From nowhere, an enemy struck Indy causing him to drop the bag. One of the charges went clattering across the dais. The battle was drawing close, and there was no time to chase after the device. Ron took the foe down, but he knew one charge would not be enough. Ron and Indy watched as the explosive rolled awkwardly away from them, and was caught in a waiting hand on the other side of the dais. The hand closed around the bomb, then drew it upward as the owner of that hand stood upright and looked across the dais at his son.

Now it was Indiana's turn to marvel. Henry Jones was not the ancient, withered old man he'd shared a room with at the rest home all these years. He too seemed neither young, nor old. He was ageless, eternal. He walked calmly up to the Ark.

"Let me help you with this, Indiana."

Indy took the final few steps and came to stand next to his father, "You can call me Junior."

Henry simply nodded and smiled.

"NOOO!" Screamed a desperate voice from a short distance away, "STEP AWAY FROM THERE! NOW!"

Ron stood up and turned around, his voice was the epitome of authoritative calm, "It ends now, Dementor! Everything. It all ends now."

Ron then ignored the villain and turned his eyes to his wife. Kim had been caught, and stood in the firm grip of her captors but did not struggle. She returned his gaze and smiled; a deep, loving smile that was only ever meant for Ron. In that second of silence, they said goodbye to each other.

Dementor was sprinting toward the Ark with a group of his henchmen, shouting. Ron only heard him as though he were very far away. Kim's eyes caught his attention once more as they widened and looked past him to the platform.

Ron turned and beheld a third person standing on the far side of the Ark. She also had an eternal look about her, ageless and utterly beautiful.

"Nana?" Kim cried out almost breathlessly.

Indy turned to look at Ron and the two men shared a nod. "So long, kid."

Ron closed his eyes and dropped to his knees once again, whispering the words, "I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me."

At the split second when Dementor reached the dais, Henry and Indy looked at each other and pulled the ignition pins on the cobalt charges.

The explosion was instant.

In an instant, Ron noted three things: The first was that the explosion was not the massive orange fireball he had been expecting, but rather a bright, pale blue dome of energy that spread outward in all directions as it engulfed the Ark, the dais, and all who were on it, then spread rapidly outward.

The second was that Ron had once more whispered, "Thou art with me" as the wall of energy bore down upon him.

And the third... the very last thing he was aware of just at the point when the explosion consumed him was one final word from the One. A last exhortation from the Whispered Rumble that filled the air, the earth, and Ron to his very soul.

"Booyah."

Then Ron knew no more.

* * *

It was late April - the 24th to be exact - and Reno, Nevada was experiencing a snowstorm that Spring of 1946. It wasn't a blizzard, at least not in the valleys. The snow fell in lazy flurries and accumulated slowly on every available surface. The mountains were undoubtedly getting a good helping of the white stuff, and they planned to take a few days honeymoon at a hotel on the south end of Lake Tahoe. But they weren't planning on driving up to the lake until tomorrow.

Tonight was their wedding night.

Henry Jones Jr. and his new bride, Marion Zimmer Jones, were sitting in the coffee shop of the Nevada Club Hotel and Casino, having just gotten married by a justice of the peace at the courthouse down the street.

Once they had arrived back in the States and discovered Zim was "in trouble" as the saying went, they decided to go ahead and tie the knot as soon as possible, so the math wouldn't be too far off when the baby asked about his lineage. Nevada was the only state in the union where Marriage was an actual industry (third behind Gaming and Divorce, but ahead of Mining and Prostitution…in that order), and one could obtain a marriage only slightly faster than one could get a divorce, mostly because divorce required six weeks of residency in the state to be valid.

Indy decided he would just write a letter to his father with the news, while arrangements would be made to bring Slim to the States on the next available military transport so he could meet his new stepfather. They were all going to live at Indy's house, where he could keep his teaching position at Marshall College. Zim would be able to work anywhere, largely because she was often away on missions, though she had already made up her mind to scale those back a little. She would keep her Aunt Mim's house in Middleton as a Summer residence when Marshall College was between semesters. They weren't sure how it was all going to work out, but they promised each other they would make it work.

For now all those details could wait. After all, they had only been married for a couple of hours, and they were enjoying their first meal as husband and wife. Since the hotel was Nevada themed, the entrees in the coffee shop were all named after Nevada locales. The burgers were named after state counties; there was the Washoe Burger, the Douglas Burger, etc.

Indy was enjoying a Nye Burger. It had lots of cheese on it.

"How's your sandwich?" she cooed, munching on a french-fried potato.

"Chewie." He answered with a grin.

They gazed at each other in a comfortable silence. Indy was keenly aware that he had these feelings only one other time, and that woman had also been named Marion. Abstractly he wondered how she was doing, and felt a mild pang of regret for having run out on her only a week before they were supposed to be wed. In many ways, Indy pushed aside any reservations he might have had about marrying Zim because he was determined not to make the same mistake twice. He genuinely loved her, and now was going to have a child and a life with her. He knew with absolute certainty that she would not force him to settle down. Indeed, he wondered if there wouldn't be times when he was asking her to come home and be with the family. One way or the other, they were going to have a very interesting life full of adventure together, and that appealed to him.

Having finished their meal, they went outside to get into the car. They would make the drive to Carson City tonight at least, and then go the rest of the way up to Lake Tahoe tomorrow. When they got outside, snowflakes were wafting lazily through the air. Feeling like a little girl, Zim picked one of the flakes out and chased after it, intending to catch it on her tongue. She was so intent on her chosen task that she wasn't paying attention to where she was going and ran right into the back of a Buick. Zim went sprawling.

Laughter erupted from Indy.

Sitting on her backside in a snowy parking lot, she wanted to be angry at him, but burst out laughing instead.

"Dr. Jones," she said, holding her hand out to him, "Your wife is in need of attention."

Indy pulled her up, and into his arms, kissing her until she absorbed some of his warmth.

"Are you ready to begin our honeymoon, Mrs. Jones?" he asked her with a grin.

"Yes," She said emphatically, "I am. I don't think I will ever be ready to end it, though."

And for the next two years, they both felt as though they were still on their honeymoon. Indy settled into this teaching position again, Zim took a leave of absence from Army Intelligence to have the baby and take care of it for awhile. In honor of her first husband, she named him James Timothy. Indy had no objections.

Officially, the Tempus Simia was destroyed during the battle at the African Monkey Temple. Unofficially, it wound up in the basement of Zim's aunt Mim's house in Middleton. Both Indy and Zim felt such an innocuous hiding place was preferable to something more obvious, such the warehouse at Area 51.

At Indy's request, Zim made inquiries into the career of Colonel Eaton, specifically; why he hadn't taken the Ark to Germany when Indy turned it over to him. It was ultimately determined that Eaton was unable to find a way to get the Ark out of the country without blowing his cover. He had tipped the Nazis to the fact that the Ark was being taken by Indy out of Cairo on Katanga's freighter, and felt his job was complete once the Nazis took possession of the relic. He probably never expected to see Indy again, nor the Ark for that matter. When Jones showed up in the U.S. with the Ark in his possession, Eaton's hands were tied. He had to watch helplessly as the Ark was taken from him and squirreled away in a massive warehouse in the deserts of Southern Nevada.

Zim and Indy shared many adventures together. Indy would often accompany his wife on strategic missions, and sometimes she would go with him on an archeological expedition. In either case, both of them were very efficient, very attuned to each other, and worked very well together. Many missions were accomplished, and many antiquities were recovered and put into a museum where they belonged. Both of them felt as though they had finally discovered the deeper meaning of true happiness.

And so it was, in the Summer of 1948, when Zim received an unusual visitor. She was in the basement of the house in Middleton. Indy had taken Slim and their eighteen month old son James into town for some ice cream, though Zim had to make Indy swear he wouldn't feed any to the baby. She knew James would get some anyway, but at least this way, Indy would feel guilty about it and not give him so much that it would upset his stomach. Such were the little battles and skirmishes of marriage.

Zim was folding laundry when the room suddenly lit up in a bright crimson glow. Startled, she spun around and saw a vortex open up a few feet away, and through it, she saw the interior of their house near Marshall College. But something about it didn't look right; everything was where it should be, but it looked dim, dark. There was dust on every available surface, and a thick coating at that. Most of the family pictures on the walls were gone. Some of the furniture was broken and disused. All this she took in during the few seconds it took for the vortex to form. Then she heard a voice.

"Please step through, Mrs. Jones," It was a female voice, and very familiar, "I promise nothing will happen to you. It is quite safe."

Zim stood still, wondering if she should bolt for the stairs and go try to find her husband.

"There isn't much time," the voice said again, "I cannot maintain the integrity of the portal! Please step through. I assure you, no harm will come to you!"

It was curiosity that got the better of Zim. She had to know who that voice belonged to. So, she held her breath, and stepped forward.

It was much like stepping through a doorway with a high threshold. There were no strange sensations or feelings, no noises or odd occurrences. One instant she was in her basement, and the next she was in the house back east.

"I appreciate your cooperation," the voice said from just off to her left.

Zim turned and almost let out a yelp. The woman the voice belonged to, was her. Or at least, it was a much older version of her. Zim felt as though she were looking in a funhouse mirror at a carnival; the ones with the ripples in the glass that are supposed to make you look older.

"Yes," she said, guessing her younger self's thoughts, "I am you. I have used the Tempus Simia to bring you forward ten years."

"Ten years!' Zim gasped, "But you-"

"I know," the older woman cut her off, "I look like I'm almost sixty. That is because of what I have been through, and it is a story I will tell you, but you have to make me a promise."

"I promise nothing," Zim said defiantly, still not sure if this was all really happening.

Older Zim nodded, "I would expect nothing less from myself. Nevertheless, what I am about to tell you and show you must be considered the absolute truth. I don't think I have the time or energy to try and convince you this is all real. If you assure me of that, then I will exact no further promises from you. Will you do that?"

"I had a stuffed animal when I was five-" Zim began.

"An English Bulldog" Older Zim confirmed, "You called him Brit, and you lost him when you were six."

Zim said nothing for a moment, and then quietly, she said, "I will trust you."

"Good," the older woman nodded, "Come with me."

They walked out the front door and up the street, turned the corner at the intersection and walked two blocks. During all this time, Zim expected her older self to tell her the promised story but she said nothing. Zim decided to remain quiet, knowing the other woman would talk when it was necessary. Halfway through the third block, Older Zim turned left, crossed the street, and went into the cemetery which was located there. Zim followed. They made their way through the rows of headstones and statuary until the older woman found what she was looking for and turned, gesturing for Zim to take a look. She saw what she was half expecting to see; gravestones for Indy, and his father. But there were four more; one for Slim, one for James, a headstone for someone named Amanda, and sill another for someone named Marcus.

"Our children," Older Zim said calmly, "All of them."

"What happened?" Zim asked breathlessly.

"The Tempus Simia. You remember those two Germans who escaped into the jungle when Indy and I- Indy and _you_, recovered the Tempus Simia?"

Zim nodded.

"They were caught by the Soviets. And they talked. Stukhov was bent on possessing the Tempus Simia, but the KGB wasn't as tightly run as the Russians wanted us to think. There were spies, word got out, and many agents of the world's more nefarious governments came looking for it."

"So why not get rid of it?"

"We did, but then, we knew where it was, and we were the only ones with the information on its whereabouts."

Zim said nothing.

Older Zim's voice began to quiver, "James was the first. And Indy was so broken up about it that he quit his job and moved us all out to Middleton. But they found us. And they found Indy's father. And the worst part…"

Here she had to choke back sobs.

"…the worst part was, they killed James not long after his second birthday. Then it was like they waited for the other children to be born! Amanda didn't even make it to six months! Finally, they killed Indy out of spite, leaving me to choke on bitter memories of my dead family."

Older Zim was openly crying by this point.

"OK," Zim said quietly, "Then you have warned me. I'll tell Indy when I get back and-"

"No," Older Zim said emphatically, "You don't understand. I've already done that! I've done it a hundred different times in a hundred different ways, and it all ends up the same!"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"That was the first thing I tried. I went back and warned you, and it worked. The first attempt on James' life was thwarted. But they kept coming back and eventually succeeded. So I tried it again, I went back in time and warned my younger self and Indy about what was going to happen. Again, the process was different, but the outcome was the same. We were given bodyguards, special protection; the government even tried to put us into the Witness Protection Program, but they kept finding us. So I kept going back, kept trying to find different ways of avoiding this, but it always ended the same."

"Wait," Zim interjected, "If you kept going back, how would you remember everything from previous attempts?"

"This," Older Zim reached behind Indy's headstone and produced a large, leather-bound book, "This has details of each attempt at going back and changing history. After each attempt is recorded, the book is passed on to the next Zim, as I am passing this on to you."

Zim took the book and opened it. Inside was an account of the many attempts to change history in order to save the Jones family. Every attempt ended with only Zim remaining alive.

"In some of the timelines," Older Zim said through fresh tears, "We had more children than these four. They all wind up dead. But there is something that has not yet been tried."

"What?" Zim asked.

"In each of the attempts, these government agents find the Jones family, and eliminate all of them save me…us…you know what I mean."

Zim nodded.

"But, if there were no Jones family…"

"No!" Zim said resolutely, "Out of the question."

Older Zim nodded knowingly, "I said the exact same thing to my older self when we had this talk. I tried to find some way to alter things without sacrificing my relationship with my husband. Read some of the entries if you want to see how well it went. Read the entire book."

Zim sat down on the ground right there in front of the gravestones of her husband and children and did just that. One entry after another described in detail each attempt to alter the timeline in order to prevent the deaths of Indiana Jones and his children. There were close to a hundred such entries, and each of them ended the same. Sometimes the family was killed all at once, or in a short span of time, sometimes it took almost the entire ten years to take place, but every single time, James was the first to go, followed by the others. Zim realized there were probably many attempts before one of the versions of herself decided to start keeping the journal. Her mind reeled at all the years spent trying to change the inevitable; the waiting, the horror at watching plans dissolve as Indy and the children were killed anyway. Sometimes it was at the hands of soldiers, other times it was assassins, or ninjas, or mercenaries. One way or another, the result was the same. It took close to two hours to read the entire book, and Older Zim never once interrupted her. By the time she was finished reading, Zim had some questions.

"What about going back to the day we recovered the Tempus Simia at the African Temple?"

"Impossible," Older Zim responded, "Because Eaton used it to bring Hitler into his time period, there is already an energy stream from the Tempus Simia locked into that day. It is impossible to go there from a different time period because it is impossible to cross the energy streams. It's already been tried"

"Before that day, then."

"Go back before that day? Try to change events before that day?" Older Zim asked pointedly.

Zim nodded.

"And do what?" Older Zim demanded. "Take the Tempus Simia away from Eaton? Do that and Zim and Indy will have no reason to go to Africa at all. The first kiss, the trek through the jungle, and James' conception; none of it will have happened. You and Indy never get together, and worse, Eaton might never be exposed. His New Reich was destroyed that day. This would allow it to continue to exist."

"Another time, then, after that day." Zim insisted.

"It's been tried." Older Zim said quietly, "Once James is conceived, you and Indy begin your relationship in earnest. Everything falls apart after that."

"Then if I do what you are suggesting, what makes you think it will succeed?"

"I don't know that it will," Older Zim replied honestly, "But everything else has been tried. At least this way, things would be so altered that it might shift the timeline. You and Indy have no more kids. You go back to being Zim Possible, which means James does as well. In addition, separate the two pieces of the Tempus Simia and return them to their original resting places. Word will get out that you are no longer with Indy, and that you dismantled the Tempus Simia. That may be enough to discourage the assassination attempts."

"What if I just went back and separated the pieces of the Simia, but stayed with Indy? That might be enough."

Older Zim smiled a sad smile and shook her head, "You seem to have forgotten already. That's what I tried to do. That's my entry in the book."

Zim flipped to the last few pages and verified what her older self had just said.

"If you do as I suggested," Older Zim continued, "There might be enough variables in play to prevent Indy from being killed."

"Why do they leave me alive each time?" Zim needed to know.

"I don't think they intended to," Older Zim answered, "I believe somewhere back there when all this began, the first Zim used the Tempus Simia to go back and warn her younger self before she was eliminated. In any case, those looking for the Tempus Simia needed someone alive to give them the information of the whereabouts, and…"

She trailed off. Zim waited patiently for her to begin talking again, then a realization came to her, and she suspected it was the same realization that had come upon the older version of herself.

"You understand now," Older Zim said quietly, "Don't you."

Zim could only nod. Dread began to grow in her stomach as she came to accept the inevitable. In Zim's mind, it was like an automobile race on a circular track, and the race only lasts for one lap. The race is run, and one driver doesn't like the outcome, so he declares the race will be run again. Again he loses, and again he declares a restart. Each time he starts the race over, he tries something different; taking an inside lane approach, faster speed in the turns, drafting behind this driver or that driver, but the outcome is always the same. This is due to the variables always being the same; same drivers, same cars, same car speeds, same conditions on the track. The driver in question always loses; either coming in second, or worse, because each new strategy was a minor alteration of the one before it. What was needed was a radical new approach to the race. Change the variables significantly enough, and you change the outcome.

She looked through the book again. At least a hundred times or more, Zim had gone back in time to warn her younger self about the events that were going to take place, and each time, the only changes made to the timeline were minor, so the way the events unfolded might be different in each attempt, but the outcome would always be the same. Zim was the driver who kept declaring the race null, and calling for a restart. She realized that in order to win, she was going to have to change vehicles, change racing strategies, and change the track altogether.

Her world came crashing down around her.

Older Zim sensed what her younger self was thinking, and gave voice to the thought, "You can't tell him."

Zim looked up at the older woman and nodded with vacant eyes that welled up with tears, "I know. He'll just insist we can overcome it all, that we can fight, that we can change things."

"And in his heart he would believe it. He would gladly lay down his life for you, because he loves you that much. And if it were just a case of that, then I would say make a go of it. But the children…even Slim…", and here Older Zim gestured to the gravestones. "And the worst part is, I have no idea if the Tempus Simia is even kept out of the wrong hands after all is said and done."

"Then maybe I should just enjoy the time I have with him."

"You really want to lose James? And Slim too? And have you thought about what their deaths do to Indy? When I made my attempt at altering the timeline, Indiana was a hollow shell of a man when they eliminated him. I half suspect he was glad to lose his life after losing four children. Some of the entries in the book say the same thing."

Zim began to sob, "I wish I'd never-"

"So do I." Older Zim said quietly but forcefully, "So do I."

They walked back to Indy's house together and discussed what needed to be done. The more they talked about their plans, the more depressed Zim became. Every now and then, she would suddenly become defiant and resolute, and declare she could handle things the way she wanted. Each time, a patient Older Zim would open the book and show her why that just wasn't possible.

When she was ready to go, Older Zim opened the vortex with the Tempus Simia. As it turned out, the African Temple wasn't needed to utilize the power of the relic. The ancient Chinese Monks fabricated the elaborate process in order to make it difficult for anyone to use the talisman at all. And since Older Zim had already made a link between this day and that Summer day in 1948, the same vortex was simply reopened to allow Zim to step back through. If someone had been standing there when Zim came forward into the future, it would have seemed that she immediately turned around and came back through. No time had passed…in the past.

After the vortex closed behind her, Zim began to wonder if it had really happened at all. But there in her hands was the journal, the detailed description of the many attempts to prevent Indy and the children's deaths.

Zim decided to allow herself one last week with her beloved husband; one that she intended to soak up and enjoy for all it was worth. But even then she was unable to fully appreciate it; a sense of dread hung over her. Many were the times during that week she wanted to tell Indy everything, to share with him her pain and anguish, and to utilize his vast intelligence in finding a solution. Each time she was tempted to do this, she would secretly sneak off, take the journal from its hiding place, and deliberately read about the times when Zim had told Indy everything, after which he had resolved to fight, to triumph, and to spend his life with her, only to end up dead, along with his father, and their children.

For Indy's part, he did notice something was bothering her. But every time he asked her about it, she would tell him everything was fine. He knew she wasn't being honest with him, but he didn't push her. Whatever was bothering her, it was serious.

Zim made the most of that week. They took the children to the park, or to the Middleton Community Pool. Every evening they would have a family dinner on the porch in the warm Summer breezes, and every night they made love.

All too soon, that week was over. Zim dared not risk any more time for selfish purposes. James would be dead in six months if she didn't get to work. Time was already short.

From Indy's perspective, it was as though she had begun to grow cold and distant. Her loving and cheerful disposition gradually gave way to aloofness and detachment. As those Summer months went on, Zim began to find fault in just about everything Indy did. They had several rather heated arguments about what Indy considered trivial matters. By the end of the Summer, they were sleeping in separate beds.

In the Fall, he went back to teaching at Marshall, and Zim began taking more and more missions from the OSS, spending a great deal of time away from home. Indy tried desperately to make things work, wanting nothing more than to be with her and raise a family. But Zim began to drop hints about their marriage being a mistake, and perhaps they might be better suited apart from each other. Again, Indy put a great deal of effort into the relationship, pledging to her to do whatever it took to make their marriage work. She rebuffed his pledges, and treated him with cold indifference. At last, more out of frustration than anything else, Indy went on an extended archeological expedition for two months by himself. When he came back, Zim had taken up temporary residence in Reno.

Six weeks later, a hurt and bewildered Indiana Jones signed his name to the divorce papers she set before him. As part of the divorce agreement, Indy was to have nothing whatsoever to do with his son James, and avoid all contact with Zim. On the evening after the papers were signed, Indiana Jones boarded the eastbound train without saying goodbye to her or Slim, or James.

Zim cried almost nonstop until the sun came up the next morning.

* * *

"…_never cried so hard in my life. Even now I have my doubts about whether it was necessary to go to such extremes to alter the timeline. But it worked. There were two attempts on Indy's life, and both failed, though the second attempt claimed the life of his wife, Marion Ravenwood. Once, they came after me, but I had made sure there would be plenty of warning. The headpiece of the Tempus Simia I returned to the shrine in Australia, but the body of the statue I kept, and had it put on display at the Middleton Museum. The label in the display case simply read "Tempus Simia". The only person besides Indiana who would ever know there were two pieces to the talisman was Stukhov, and if he had gotten ahold of the lower piece, then he knew where the head piece would be and he would leave me alone. Later I found out that Stukhov had been sent to Siberia for his failure to acquire the Tempus Simia in Africa. For reasons only he knows, he never shared pertinent information about the talisman with his superiors. Another Soviet agent was sent, and he did break into the Middleton Museum, but it seems he was unaware of the necessity of the headpiece. I caught him in Africa, trying to use the power of the T.S. without it. I managed to get the lower piece back without killing the Russian in the hopes he would go back and report to his superiors that the rumors of the Tempus Simia's abilities were false. It must have worked, because there were no further attempts to take it. Indy lived, and so did Slim and James. Not a day goes by that I don't miss my husband terribly."_

Kim closed her Grandmother's diary with tears rolling down her cheeks. Just the thought of the heartbreak her grandmother had to endure was itself almost heartbreaking. Kim was grateful she didn't have to make such a choice with Ron. She didn't know what she would do without him.

As though he sensed her thoughts, Ron stirred. He had been lying unconscious in a hospitable bed at Middleton General for three days now. Kim herself had only just woken up the day before, bruised and tired, but otherwise alright. She rose from the chair where she had spent the night reading her grandmother's diary and went to the bedside.

His eyes opened and found her, "Kim?"

She knelt down and kissed him, taking his hand in her left, and stroking his hair with her right. They stayed like that in silence for awhile while he collected his thoughts. Then, memories came back to him.

"The Ark-"

"Is gone," she said quietly.

"How?"

"Do you remember telling us the explosion would only effect that part of the great hall where the Ark was sitting?" Kim asked.

Ron nodded.

"Well, it wasn't just limited to that area."

"I don't think that was the Cobalt Charges." Ron said, his voice hoarse, "I've seen a Quantum Cobalt detonation, it's a very bright and intense orange. This wasn't."

Kim nodded, "It looked blue to me, but then I only saw it for a second."

Ron nodded again.

"This explosion was much larger," Kim continued, "It set off alarms back at Global Justice which responded with a fleet of Jetcopters; enough to deal with Dementor's hoverjets. Only…"

"What?" Ron croaked.

"There were no hoverjets. In fact, there was nothing."

"I don't understand."' Ron was confused.

"From what Wil tells me, the GJ jetcopters should have easily intercepted the hoverjets before they got away. They were at the location within a half hour of detecting the explosion, and the monitors back at GJ said it was a big one. They initially feared a nuclear detonation." Kim explained.

"Wow," Ron rasped, "So it took out the hoverjets."

"You don't understand, Ron. The hoverjets were gone. There were no hoverjets, not even wreckage. There were no soldiers or henchmen to be found. Dementor was gone, the Ark was gone. Ron, there wasn't even a _lair!_"

"What?"

Kim nodded emphatically, "The pilot of the lead chopper swears he found us all unconscious, lying on top of a huge rock formation out in the desert. You, Me, Wil, most of the GJ agents, as well as Jim and Ariana and most of the Metaken warriors. Oh, and the horses. The horses were all found at the base of the rock. But there was no lair! No fortress, no walls, no hollowed out rock. No Dementor, no army, no hoverjets."

"And no Ark."

"And no Ark," she confirmed. Then, her face took on an air of sadness, "Ron, Rabbi Katz was not found with us either. GJ has search parties out in the desert, but so far he hasn't been seen."

Ron looked crestfallen. Kim put her arms around her husband's neck and kissed him softly on the forehead. Without saying a word, they both knew Rabbi Katz was not going to be found. It was then that Ron noticed her red eyes.

"Have you been crying?"

At that moment, Veronica burst into the room, followed by Wade and Monique. Rufus was contentedly perched on Veronica's shoulder. The girl had a joyous reunions with her parents and chattered excitedly about all she had been doing in the last few days. Kim and Monique listened intently, while Wade quietly came over to his friend's bedside.

"I've got a question for you, if you feel up to answering one." Wade said pointedly.

"Sure," Ron said affably, sitting up in his bed.

"We monitored the explosion at the location where you were all found, but it wasn't a Quantum Cobalt explosion. I have half of GJ's systems set up to detect any kind of detonation with a Quantum energy signature, but those detection systems never registered anything. So what happened?"

Ron sat there and thought for a bit, "You know, Wade, I'll have to tell you some other time when I can concentrate on remembering the details. If I told you everything right now, I don't think you would believe me."

Wade nodded, "I bet it's quite a story."

"You have no idea," Ron said with no small sense of wonder.

The conversation turned to lighter subjects, and soon the four of them were talking and laughing together. A doctor stopped by and informed them he wanted Kim and Ron overnight for observation. Kim insisted she would be in Ron's room until they were to be discharged the following day. Word came that Wil Du had woken up and they all paraded down the hall to find his wife Justine sitting at his bedside with both his hands clutched in hers. She greeted them all warmly as they crowded around to see how Wil was faring. After a time they all went back to Ron's room in order to give Wil and Justine some much needed privacy.

Evening came on, and Veronica began to yawn profusely, eventually falling asleep in Kim's arms. Monique picked her up, and she, Wade and Rufus went home for the night, leaving Kim and Ron alone.

Ron had not forgotten his question from earlier that day, "You never told me why you were crying."

Kim stood up and walked over to the chair on the other side of the room, "I've been reading Nana's diary. You would not believe what she went through to make sure Dad would be OK."

She told him everything she had read.

"So was that the end of it?" Ron asked, a little sadness in his voice.

"Not quite," Kim slid into bed next to him and opened up the diary, "there is one final entry."

Ron sat up a little and put his arm around her as she began to read aloud.

"It was October 26, 1970, and I was retired. Slim had quit his job at MIT and bought a ranch in Wyoming, while James was in his third year at Stanford, earning his degree in Chemical Engineering. He had just written a letter about a girl he'd met…"

* * *

"…_couldn't stop talking about her smile and her laugh and her fiery red hair. The way he sounded in his letter, I had a strong suspicion he'd be bringing her home to meet me before long. I was still in the process of settling into the Government retirement community in Florida. Even though I was just past the age of forty, I had earned a good pension, and I decided I had had enough of putting my life in danger. I wanted to see my grandchildren. That's not to say I didn't work. I had gotten a good job as a security consultant, which allowed me to travel from time to time. But this particular day I was at home. There was a knock on my door."_

••

It was Indy.

He stood there in the warm Florida rain looking for all the world to see like a lost puppy. She could see the pain in his eyes, the bewilderment and the fresh anguish at seeing her for the first time in more than two decades.

"It's been twenty-two years," He said firmly, "I stayed away like you asked me to. I kept out of my own son's life like you asked me to. I married someone else, but she died a couple of years ago. I want answers. I think I'm entitled to some answers."

"Indy," she said softly, "Come inside out of the rai-"

"Don't!" he practically yelled, pointing a stern finger at her, "Don't be nice to me now, not after what you did to me. All I want to know is why. I deserve to know that!"

"You do," Zim agreed, "but it's a very long story, and I will not tell it to you while you stand at my front door in the rain."

He stood there, resolute, water running off his fedora and down his grey trench coat. But she could tell he was unsure what to do.

"Indiana," Zim said softly, "You came here for a reason. I am offering to give you the answers you want, but I can't give you a satisfactory answer in just a few minutes while you stand out there getting soaked. Please. Come inside."

"I can't," he said, his voice shaking, "You want to have a polite conversation. You'll make me coffee and we'll sit and have a pleasant chat about why you did what you did. And I'll go away from here just as hurt as I ever was because the truth is, _Lieutenant_, I still love you. There! I admitted it. Are you happy? I never got over you. I even told Marion that none of the other women in my life weren't her, but I think I was trying to make myself believe it more than anything else! After she died I wanted to come find you and scream at you for what you've done to me, and now I don't even have the strength to do that! So just tell me why and I'll go! OK? Can you at least do that much for me?"

Zim stepped forward, into the rain, and walked right up to him.

He recoiled slightly, as though her touch might actually cause him physical pain.

"I still love you, Indy," she said firmly, "If you don't want to come in, then I will come out to you, and we can both stand here and you can listen to my story. But I will tell you the whole thing, and you will listen to all of it, and once you have heard it, you can judge my actions and either understand why I did what I did, or turn away unsatisfied. But one way or the other-"

Zim couldn't take it anymore. Standing there this close to him, he still smelled the same; that unique scent that was a mixture of his natural smell and some cheap cologne. All the memories came flooding back; all the feelings, all the desires. He had aged in the last twenty years, but not much.

She kissed him.

She put her arms around him, drew him to her, and kissed him deeply.

Indy was unable to resist. He wanted this more than anything in the world, and it was the last thing he was expecting to happen. He returned her longing embrace and held her tight.

She was crying when her lips parted from his.

"I'm so sorry, Indiana. I don't…I am so sorry. Please, come inside and let me tell you everything."

"I….um…ok," still acting like some lost puppy, he followed her inside.

She told him everything; every last detail of what she did and why she did it. She told him about her older self bringing her forward into the future, and the story her older self told her. She brought out the journal of attempts to alter the timeline and made Indy read every entry. She told him of her horrible doubts and how much she didn't want to end their relationship. She told him absolutely everything.

Indy listened in silence, never once asking a question or interrupting her. He read through the journal, and absorbed every word. In the end, he chose to believe her.

When she finished her story, there was silence for a time.

"I understand," he finally said, almost in a whisper, "I don't know if I agree with what you did as the answer to the problem, but I understand."

"If there was another way-" she began.

"It doesn't matter," Indy said firmly, "Because we are here now, and even though it might be an option, we are not going to go back and change anything. We aren't going to go back at all. The Tempus Simia stays where it is, and the timeline – such as it is – will remain. I think part of your problem was that you kept second guessing yourself, so you went back to fix something else, only to have it all fall apart anyway. You were right, you were that driver declaring the race null and void and attempting to go another lap."

Zim nodded.

"But you know what I keep thinking?" Indy continued, "You took this responsibility on yourself. You didn't come to me or anyone else for advice, and one way or another, that had a serious negative effect on my life, as well as your own."

Zim began to tear up.

"So you have to live with the responsibility of that." Indy turned to look at her squarely, "And I know you. You'll spend the rest of your life torturing yourself over what might have been done different, and as far as I'm concerned, that's a good enough punishment for taking all that power into your own hands and deciding you could choose which events were valid and which others could not be allowed to happen. In this one thing, I will never comfort you, never reassure you, never console you, never tell you that you did your best, because you didn't. You arrogantly decided that you were the sole arbiter in how this affected all our lives. You have to live with it."

Indiana Jones got up and walked out, leaving a sobbing Zim alone with her grief.

He returned the next day. She asked him to stay, and he did, for the rest of her life.

Due to his service in the OSS, Indy qualified for retirement housing and took up residence next door to Zim. Soon after, he moved his father in with him; telling her all about their adventure with the Grail, and how they felt the need to fake Henry Jones Sr.'s death. She guarded the secret well.

They did not remarry, partly because Indy had had enough of marriage, and because Zim did not want to attract attention should word get out about their reunion. Indy and James quietly got to know each other, and Indiana even visited the hospital when James and his wife gave birth to their daughter Kim, and again when the twins came along. But for their safety, the grandchildren were never told of Indy's existence, and James rarely saw his father, but they did spend some precious quality time together over the years.

Zim and Indy found happiness in each other, and had one or two more adventures in the following years, then they settled down and grew old together. They watched secretly in pride as their granddaughter became a world famous hero, battling supervillians, and saving the world, and once even saving them from a plot by Dr. Drakken to turn Florida's elderly residents into his own Zombie army.

And when, in the course of time, Zim Possible's life reached its end, Indiana Jones was at her side as her final breath passed between her lips.

* * *

In the desert region west of Milddleton sat a great rock formation. There was a road at the base of this formation that led to the top, and ended at a massive rock outcropping. Aside from the road, there was no sign of any kind of human presence. Deep inside this rock was a hollow space that looked as if it had once been a large room, though there were no windows and no doors, and there was more than fifty feet of solid stone beyond any point in the walls. Nevertheless, this hollow space contained three things; a dais, the Ark of the Covenant, and a man.

In the outside world, the man had been known as Professor Dementor. He had woken up in this strange cave-with-no-entrance to find himself alone with that which he had so desperately sought after.

The Ark gave off a dim glow as though a golden perpetual twilight existed inside this mountain den.

He searched for some kind of exit; a secret door or a weak point in the walls but to no avail. He screamed at the top of his lungs for hours, but the sound only echoed off the walls.

Then for some time he stood and stared at the Ark. He stared, and hated, and raged, and refused to repent or regret any of his actions.

Within him, Dementor tried to compose thoughts that might provoke some kind of response such as those that had come to him earlier when the henchman dropped dead. But no responses came.

He was aware of two very important facts, though how he came by this knowledge he did not fully understand. The first was if he touched the Ark, he would die. That fact was easily enough deduced from having seen one of his henchmen perish as a direct result of that very action. The second fact was if he did not touch the Ark, then he would not die. Ever. He would not die from dehydration, or starve to death, or from sickness, or old age, or even injury. He could attempt to take his own life (which he would do several times in the coming years), but he would always wake up unharmed. He could not die. He would simply exist in this isolated den of rock with the prize he had once sought to possess at the cost of innocent lives. This particular existence could easily be ended by laying a hand on the Ark (something he would also contemplate doing over the coming years) and yet, the thought made him afraid. A deep-seeded fear prevented him from even going near the Ark. It sat at one end of the hollowed out dungeon of stone, while he sat, or stood, as far away from it as possible. And even though insanity would gradually take him in the coming decades, that fear would never leave him; he would never be able to bring himself to touch what he had so fiercely desired before he came to be inside the mountain.

So he sat.

And he stared.

And ever so slowly…

… over the course of decades that stretched into centuries…

…he descended into madness.

* * *

THE END


End file.
